LIBRARY 

k  y  OF  CALIFORNIA 
DAVIS 


MY  COUNTRY 

AND   OTHER  POEMS 


Theodore  Henry  Shackelford 


ILLUSTRATED  BY  THE  AUTHOR 


INTRODUCTION  BY  CHARLES  HASTINGS  DODD.  D.D..L.L.D. 


This  volume  contains  all  the  poems  included  in  the  first 
volume — "Mammy's  Cracklin*  Bread" 


>  "V.  1 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
DAVIS 


Copyrighted  1916-1918 
By  Theodore  Henry  Shackelford 


PRESS  OF  I.  W.  KLOPP  CO.,  PHILADELPHIA 


INTRODUCTION. 

This  new  volume  from  the  pen  of  my  gifted 
young  friend,  Mr.  Shackelford,  gives  very 
plain  evidence  of  industry  and  growth.  As  its 
title  would  indicate  the  mood  of  all  it  con 
tains  is  more  serious  than  his  former  volume, 
and  in  that  respect  it  reflects  the  deepening 
gravity  of  the  public  mind,  beset  as  it  now  is 
by  the  pain  and  horror  of  the  Great  War.  And 
yet  quite  fortunately  Mr.  Shackelford  does 
not  neglect  the  vein  of  folk-song  which  made 
his  "Mammy's  Cracklin'  Bread"  so  popular. 

But  his  readers  will  be  glad  to  have  such 
beautiful  lyrics  as  "The  Last  Days  of  Au 
tumn,"  "The  Old  Pear  Tree,"  "Perseverance," 
"Good  Night,  Dear  Heart,"  "Farewell"  and 
"Youth's  Choice."  There  is  a  fine  and  promis 
ing  touch  in  these  studies,  and  "Farewell"  is 
really  delightful  in  the  depth  of  human  feeling 
which  it  displays.  I  have  been  much  attract 
ed  to  those  pieces  in  which  the  author  fur 
nishes  verses  with  choruses  for  song  use. 
Among  them  are  "Then  Aloud  I  Cry,"  "In 
That  Great  Day,"  and  "The  Big  Bell  in  Zion." 
They  are  admirable  expressions,  all  of  them. 
And  take  their  places  worthily  alongside  the 
older  examples  of  this  class. 

In  them  pathos  mingles  with  that  uncon 
scious  and  insuppressible  humor  by  which  Mr. 
Shackelford's  people  are  so  well  known. 

Then  there  are  the  new  dialect  poems  of  this 
volume.  I  would  select  "Fin'  Yo'  Place,"  as 
splendidly  worked  out  in  a  helpful  didactic 
strain.  But  "Rastus  and  the  Turtle,"  "Say 
a  Word  Faw  Fathah,"  and  "Why  Pop  Snow- 
den  Fell  From  Grace"  are  almost  as  good. 
There  is  a  quaintness  about  them  which  is 
most  pleasing. 

3 


Mr.  Shackelford's  touch  is  true.  His  handl 
ing  of  his  themes  is  graceful,  and  he  strikes 
the  deeper  chords  with  certainty  and  power. 

I  feel  that  our  author  has  enriched  the 
anthologies  of  dialect  verse  very  greatly  by 
the  contributions  of  this  and  his  former 
volume. 

Not  seldom,  but  often,  are  we  bound  to  hear 
these  excellent  presentations  when  they  be 
come  more  widely  known. 

They  are  chastely  couched,  well  balanced, 
and  keep  steadily  to  the  levels  of  common  ex 
perience,  and  yet  they  possess  the  expected 
elements  of  phantasy,  and  border  delightfully 
upon  superstition  without  actually  exhibiting 
it.  In  a  word  they  deal  with  the  rough  ma- 
terials  of  imagination  with  which  the  Negro 
people  are  so  richly  endowed. 

Some  of  Mr.  Shackelford's  war  poems  in 
this  volume  are  better  than  others.  The  dia 
lect  verse  "The  Fifteenth  Regiment,"  shows 
the  author  at  his  best. 

"The  Allies,"  and  "Doing  Their  Bit"  are 
satisfactory,  and  embody  noble  sentiments 
strongly  put. 

As  a  whole  our  author's  second  venture  is 
to  be  commended  for  its  intellectual  and  poetic 
merit.  Used,  as  it  will  be,  with  the  writer's 
winning  personality  behind  it,  there  are  no 
limits  to  the  good  it  will  do,  and  the  pleasure 
and  profit  it  will  bring  to  the  wider  public. 

And  the  best  of  it  all  is  that  the  author  is 
still  young  and  will  be  heard  again  out  of  his 
deeper  experiences.  What  we  have  affords 
only  an  example  of  that  of  which  he  is  capa 
ble. 

CHARLES  HASTINGS  DODD, 

Germantown,   Philadelphia,  Pa. 

April  12,  1918. 

4 


MY  COUNTRY. 

Long  has  the  world  in  serfdom  lain, 

Beneath  Autocracy. 
And  many  on  its  altar  slain, 

Now  come  democracy. 
Let  freedom's  banners  be  unfurled, 
Anarchy  cannot  rule  the  world, 
While  at  its  throat  thy  sword  is  hurled! 

My  Country!  My  Country! 

"Your  brother's  blood  cries  from  the  ground," 

Let  not  those  cries  be  vain. 
Too  long  has  bigotry  been  crowned, 

Arise,  shake  off   its  chain ! 
And  let  the  whole  world  know  thy  worth 
To  cause  a  bright  "New  Freedom's"  birth. 
That  love  may  dwell  upon  the  earth, 

My  Country!  My  Country! 

Avenge  the  plunder,  and  the  spoil, 

With  which  the  foe  made  way, 
That  spirit  slain  on  neutral  soil 

Must  live  again  some  day. 
Lift  up  poor  bleeding  Belgium's  hands, 
Strike  from  her  wrists  the  despot's  bands, 
Proclaim  her  "free"  throughout  all  lands! 

My  Country!  My  Country! 


Poems  by  Theodore  Henry  Shackelford 

God  will  uphold  you  in  the  right, 

And  give  you  strength  to  win, — 
To  overthrow  the  tyrant's  might — 

For  God  does  punish  sin. 
And  when  love  dwells  on  every  shore 
No  more  will  sound  the  cannon's  roar, 
But  peace  shall  reign  forever  more. 

My  Country!    My  Country! 


THE  LAST  SAILING. 


Twas  the  last  ship  of  the  season, 

Yes,  in  fact,  the  last  for  aye. 
All  who  did  not  make  this  sailing 

Must  at  home  forever  stay. 
For  the  "Isle  of  Dreams"  was  finished 

And  the  streets  had  all  been  laid. 
All  the  buildings  were  completed 

And  the  last  arrangements  made. 

Twas  a  land  of  joy  and  sunlight, 

Free  from  chilling  winds  and  snow, 
All  who  loved  the  pure,  and  noble, 

To  that  happy  land  might  go. 
Multitudes  of  weary  pilgrims 

Had  to  it  already  gone, 
Writing  back  to  those  remaining, 

Urging  them  to  hasten  on. 

And  that  land  beggared  description, 
Beauty  filled  it  everywhere. 

Beds  of  rainbow-tinted  flowers 
Lent  their  perfume  to  the  air. 


Poems  by  Theodore  Henry  Shackelford 

Stately  rows  of  verdant  shade  trees 

Bordered  fields  of  waving  grain, 
While  a  spotless,  terraced  city 

Rose  above  the  fertile  plain. 

Marble  steps  to  it  ascended 

In  an  easy,  restful  flight. 
Those  who  set  their  feet  upon  them 

Found  they  led  to  Wisdom's  height. 
Round  each  dwelling  was  a  garden 

Filled  with  fruits  and  herbage  rare, 
All  the  day  the  song  birds  warbled, 

Free  from  every  earthy  care. 

Softest  zephyrs,  music  laden, 

Wafted  there  the  season  through. 
There  the  clouds  were  white  and  fleecy, 

There  the  skies  were  always  blue. 
And  no  idleness  nor  mischief 

To  that  city  brought  disgrace. 
Only  those  whose  hearts  were  blameless 

Found  in  it  a  resting  place. 

So  the  city  grew  and  flourished, 

All  who  went  there  went  to  stay. 
Never  did  a  soul  who  reached  it 

Ever  wish  to  go  away. 
That  was  why  the  folks  of  Peaceville 

Chartered  this  gigantic  ship, 
And  were  making  preparations 

For  the  grand,  and  final  trip. 

That  was  why  the  busy  foot-steps 
Could  be  heard  throughout  the  land, 

As  the  hour-glass  recorded 

Father  Time's  last  grains  of  sand. 


Poems  by  Theodore  Henry  Shackelford 

Like  a  graceful  swan,  the  vessel 

Rose  and  fell  beside  the  quay, 
Ready  for  that  homeward  voyage 

To  the  "Isle  across  the  sea." 

Then  the  captain  of  the  steamer 

On  the  siren  gave  a  blast, 
Warning  those  who  still  were  lagging 

That  the  time  had  nearly  past. 
In  his  home  a  wealthy  merchant 

To  his  pretty  daughter  spake, 
Telling  her  that  she  must  hasten 

If  that  sailing  she  would  make. 

Thus  replied  the  haughty  maiden, 

With  a  sneer  upon  her  HpSt 
"Nonsense  father,  What's  the  hurry? 

I  can  buy  a  dozen  ships." 
First  must  she  increase  her  beauty 

By  cosmetics  rich  and  rare, 
Perfumes  that  the  gods  might  envy 

Floated  from  her  golden  hair. 

Jewelry  and  costly  raiment 

Her  attention  next  did  claim, 
Though  her  kinsmen,  now  departing, 

Called  on  her  in  Heaven's  name. 
But  the  maiden  only  answered 

To  each  anxious  advocate — 
"Go,  and  when  you  reach  the  vessel 

Tell  the  captain  I  said  wait!" 

Then  returned  she  to  her  mirror, 
Fixed  her  hair  and  dress  "just  so." 

"Now,"  said  she,  "I  think  I'm  ready 
To  that  'Dreamy  Isle'  to  go." 


Poems  by  Theodore  Henry  Shackelford 

Then  reluctant  she  departed 

For  the  ship  so  new  and  great, 
But  alas!  the  ship  was  moving, 

And  the  captain  cried  "too  late !" 

"Stay,"  said  she;  "I'm  ready,  take  me!" 

Tearing  wildly  at  her  hair, 
But  the  vessel  still  receded 

And  it  left  her  standing  there. 
"Oh !'  she  wailed,  "am  I  forsaken, 

Is  there  none  to  share  my  fate?" 
And  her  loved  ones  filled  with  pity 

Shook  their  heads  and  cried,  "too  late !" 

Not  a  word  or  parting  hand-shake 

Helped  the  maid  her  grief  to  bear, 
Not  one  soul  was  there  to  cheer  her 

In  that  hour  of  despair. 
Tears  and  prayers  alike  were  useless, 

As  she  stood  before  the  gate, 
Stretching  out  her  hands  entreating, 

For  the  voice  still  called  "too  late !" 

Small  and  smaller  grew  the  vessel 

Till  at  last  'twas  lost  to  view. 
With  remorse  she  watched  it  fading, 

Having  nothing  else  to  do. 
And  so  hard  did  Conscience  prick  her 

That  her  own  soul  she  did  hate, 
As  from  far  across  the  waters 

Came  the  still,  small  voice,  "too  late!" 

And  the  place  remained  forever 

Like  a  city  of  the  dead. 
Never  more  did  human  beings 

On  those  hollow  pavements  tread. 


Poems  by  Theodore  Henry  Shackelford 

But  her  own  words  seemed  to  mock  her, 

"Tell  the  captain  I  said  wait !" 
Then  would  come  the  solemn  answer 

Deep  and  ominous,  "too  late!" 

E'en  the  rats  and  mice  departed 

From  that  God-forsaken  place. 
Never  more  did  earthly  creature 

Ever  gaze  into  her  face. 
But  a  horde  of  little  demons 

On  the  roof  did  aggravate, 
As  they  peered  down  at  the  maiden, 

Clapped  their  hands  and  croaked  "too  late !" 

Till  the  land  reverberated, 

And  the  maiden  quaked  with  fear, 
As  the  sea  caught  up  the  echo, 

And  resounded  in  her  ear, 
Like  the  awful  Hall  of  Judgment, 

Where  the  doomed  must  hear  their  fate 
Throughout  all  the  ceaseless  ages 

Of  eternity,  "too  late !" 


BE  POLITE. 

Be  polite  to  those  around  you 
At  your  work,  and  at  your  play ; 

Though  it  costs  you  not  a  penny 
It  will  help  you  on  your  way. 

Though  the  world  is  always  busy 
Toiling  on  from  morn  till  night; 

It  has  always  time  to  notice 
Any  man  who  is  polite. 


10 


Poems  by  Theodore  Henry  Shackelford 


OVER  THE  TOP. 

Hid  are  the  stars  by  a  fog  from  the  lowlands 
Which  with  the  darkness  is  coming  apace, 
Scarce1  can  a  fellow  his  eyes  help  from  strain 
ing 

Trying  to  see  his  own  hand  near  his  face. 
Three  weeks  and  over,  we've  lain  here  and 

waited, 
Down  in  the  dampness  and  "cooties"  and 

slop, 

Now  we  believe  that  somewhere  around  mid 
night 
We  may  be  able  to  cross  o'er  the  top. 

My  joints  are  stiffer  than  old  rusty  hinges, 

They  even  creak  when  I  get  up  to  walk. 
That's  why  I'm  itching  to  get  into  action, 

Or  in  their  rendezvous  "Bochies"  to  stalk. 
Soon  comes  the  order,  and  soon  we  are  ready, 

Through  every  obstacle  ready  to  chop, — 
Then  what  a  strange,  creepy  feeling  comes  o'er 
us 

While  we  are  going  out,  "over  the  top." 

Out  in  the  dark,  and  the  wire  entanglements 
Bristling  with  stickers,  and  loud  clanging 
bells, 

All  "no  man's  land"  is  a  bed  of  shell  craters 
Yawning,  and  gapping  like  "ice  water  wells," 

11 


Poems  by  Theodore  Henry  Shackelford 

So  we  get  pretty  well  soaked  consequently, 
Still  we  press  onward  not  caring  to  stop 

Till  we  shall  reach  our  long-sought  destination 
Over  the  sand  bags,  and  "over  the  top." 

"Steady  lads,  steady  now!     First  get  your 

bearings, 

Don't  wake  the  beggars,  by  getting  too  rash. 
First  thing  you  know,  We'll  be  drawing  their 

fire, 
Then  the  next  thing,  the  whole  squad'll  be 

hash. 
Lie  down,  you  dummy,  when  star  shells  are 

gleaming ! 

Down  on  your  face  in  the  mud  puddles  drop, 
What  if  you  do  "drink  a  gallon  of  water?" 
Just  so  you  live  to  get  'over  the  top.' 

"Hey  there  you  fool,    stop    that    damn    from 

ringing! — 

Well  never  mind,  he  has  paid  with  his  life. — 
Charge  'em  now  boys,  since  they  know  we  are 

coming, 

Give  'em  a  bayonet,  bullet  or  knife, — 
Come  on  men,  faster  there,  why  are  you  loaf 
ing? 

This  is  no  time  now  to  falter,  and  stop! 
Brace  up,  we've  got  but  a  few  paces  further 
Then  we'll  be  over,  be  'over  the  top.'  " 

Oh  God !  another's  hung  up  on  the  wire ! 

Blood  streaming  down  from  a  hole  in  his 

head. 
Let  me  go  get  him.  "No,"  says  the  Lieutenant, 

"What  is  the  use  when  he's  already  dead?" 


12 


Poems  by  Theodore  Henry  Shackelford 

That's  it,  let's  jump  now  and  get  down  to  busi 
ness, 
Then   blow   for   blow  with   the  "Bochies" 

we'll  swap, 
We'll  pay  them  back  for  the  way  we  were 

peppered 
While  we  were  making  it  "over  the  top !" 

Then  what  excitement  accompanies  our  jump 
ing 

Loud  are  the  noises,  the  curses,  and  cries, 
Some  fight  like  demons,  but  others  are  captured 

Ere  they  awake  from  their  midnight  surprise. 
Some  have  been  sent  from  the  fighting  forever, 

Some  in  the  corner  like  lunatics  hop, 
Never    believing    that    we've    reached    their 
stronghold 

Out  through  their  fire  and  "over  the  top." 

What's  that  you  say,  There  is  blood  on  my  coat 
sleeve? 

Now  I  remember,  I  did  feel  a  sting, 
Oh  well,  a  wee  little  wound  in  the  shoulder 

After  all  isn't  the  very  worse  thing. 
Just  see  the  Bochies  we  made  "kick  the  bucket," 

Must  be  two  dozen  there  back  of  that  prop, 
We've  lost  but  two  of  our  men  on  the  wire, 

That's  not  so  bad,  sir,  for  "crossing  the  top." 

What  have  you  got  on  your  hip  there  lieu 
tenant? 

Come  have  a  heart  sir,  and  give  us  a  drink! 
Ought  to  get  that  much  for  stopping  these 

bullets 
Then  looking  out  for  supplies,  I  should  think. 


13 


Poems  by  Theodore  Henry  Shackelford 

See  all  these  guns,  and  enough  ammunition 

Here  in  this  pocket  to  open  a  shop. 
Now  that's  not  slow  counting  thirty-six  pris 
oners, 

Here's  to  your  health,  sir,  for  "crossing  the 
top." 


MARGARITA. 

In  a  quaint  Italian  village 

Where  the  mountain  daisies  grow, 
Lived  a  maid  named  Margarita, 

Many  centuries  ago. 
And  the  rocks  were  oft*  set  ringing 
By  her  sweet  and  plaintive  singing, 
As  she  climbed  among  them,  clinging 

To  the  arm  of  Alphio. 

And  this  noble  youth,  her  lover, 
Was  a  fearless  mountain  guide ; 

Knew  he  all  the  trails  and  passes 
Leading  o'er  the  grim  Alp's  side. 

Kept,  he  always  too,  his  bearing; 

And  most  joy  knew  he  when  sharing 

In  some  deed  of  skill  and  daring, 
Did  this  youth  named  Alphio. 

Late  one  spring  a  band  of  pilgrims 
Led  he  toward  a  dizzy  height, — 
On  whose  side  the  snow  was  melting 

Though  its  crest  rose  cold  and  white,- 
And  the  snow  their  eyes  was  blinding 
As  the  pathway  they  were  finding 
Now  round  crag  and  crevasse  winding 
In  the  steps  of  Alphio. 


14 


Poems  by  Theodore  Henry  Shackelford 

Yet  not  far  had  they  proceeded 

Ere  dark  clouds  hung  o'er  the  way 
Like  some  awful  premonition, 

Shutting  out  the  light  of  day. 
And  from  out  the  shadows  falling, 
With  a  swiftness  most  appalling 
Seemed  to  come  a  faint  voice  calling 
"Turn  back,  turn  back,  Alphio!" 

Then  the  lowering  clouds  grew  blacker; 

And  the  thunder  rumbled  loud; 
Forked  tongues  of  blinding  lightning 
Hissing  leapt  from  cloud  to  cloud. 
And  the  thunder's  dreadful  rumbling 
Set  an  avalanche  to  crumbling 
And  into  the  chasm  tumbling, 
Bearing  with  it,  Alphio. 

And  the  rope  secured  around  him 
On  the  rocks  was  cut  in  twain, 

In  the  depths  below  he  vanished 
And  was  never  seen  again. 

Terrorized  the  group,  retreating, — 

Then  with  Margarita  meeting, — 
Heard  alone  this  frantic  greeting, 
"Where,  O,  where  is  Alphio!" 

Clasped  she  then  her  breast  with  horror 

When  they  told  her  he  was  dead; 
And  before  a  hand  could  stop  her 
Up  the  treacherous  pass  she  fled, 
Often  stumbling  too  and  falling 
Now  on  narrow  ledges  crawling, 
Still  she  pushes  onward,  calling 
"Alphio,  my  Alphio!" 

15 


Poems  by  Theodore  Henry  Shackelford 

Faint  grows  she  from  cold  and  hunger, 
But  she  struggles  upward  still, — 

Urges  her  frail  body  forward 
With  a  super-human  will — 

For  no  fate  her  love  can  sever 

She  has  vowed  to  turn  back — never 

But  to  still  go  on  forever 
Till  she  finds  her  Alphio. 

Though  her  feet  were  torn  and  bleeding 

And  her  progress  painful,  slow, 
Though  her  clothes  were  wet  and  clinging 

With  the  rain  and  hail  and  snow, 
Though  the  storm  had  not  abated, 
Strove  she  onward  still,  not  waited 
Till  she  reached  that  spot  ill-fated 
Where  had  perished  Alphio. 

Frozen  in  the  pass  they  found  her, 
When  had  dawned  the  morning  light. 

Lying  still  in  death  they  found  her ; 
Sad  was  Margarita's  plight; 

And  till  now  the  peasants  kneeling 

At  their  prayers  oft*  have  a  feeling 

Of  an  apparition  stealing 

Close,  and  wailing  "Alphio  J" 

Mothers  tuck  the  covers  closer 
When  their  babies  cry  of  fright; 

And  they  whisper  "Margarita 
Must  be  hov'ring  near  to-night ; 

Still  her  ceaseless  vigil  keeping, 

Over  crag  and  torrent  sweeping 

On  the  misty  air  and  weeping 
Alphio,  my  Alphio !" 


16 


Poems  by  Theodore  Henry  Shackelford 

Those  who  cross  the  dismal  mountains 

Where  the  rushing  waters  flow, 
Still  may  see  her  lonely  spirit 

As  she  wanders  to  and  fro ; 
Or  upon  the  winds  is  driven 
Where  her  lover  once  had  striven 
O'er  the  rocks  all  rent,  and  riven, 
Ever  calling  "Alphio!" 


THE  LITTLE  RESTAURANT. 

When  class  is  out  you'll  see  the  boys 

With  joy  go  down  the  street, 
Then  turn  the  corner  into  "Joe's" 

And  scramble  for  a  seat. 
"Joe"  runs  a  little  restaurant, 

Tis  called  the  "Student's  Friend" 
Because  his  prices  suit  us  boys 

With  not  much  dough  to  spend. 

And  seniors,  juniors,  soph's  and  preps, 

At  noon  go  flocking  there ; 
Perhaps  it  would  not  come  amiss 

To  read  the  bill-of-fare ; 
A  nickel  buys  you  "coffee  and — " 

Or  porridge  in  the  pot, 
Or  else  a  sandwich  made  of  cheese, 

Or  "doggie"  good  and  hot. 

Fish  cakes  and  gravy  cost  a  dime ; 

As  does  a  stew  of  lamb ; 
Or  "fried  eggs  over,"  and  besides 

A  great,  big  piece  of  ham. 


ir 


Poems  by  Theodore  Henry  Shackelford 

"Pigtail  and  cabbage,"  "ears  and  krout," 
"Turnips  and  black  eyed  peas," 

And  "pepper  hash"  that's  hot  enough 
To  make  a  Spaniard  sneeze. 

For  fifteen  cents  you  get  "fried  fish," 

Potatoes  on  the  side ; 
Or  else  two  lines  of  vegetables 

And  "spare  ribs"  boiled  or  fried : 
Or  "pork  chops"  fat  and  greasy  too, 

Or  roast  beef  good  and  prime. 
But  here  is  what  I  love  the  most, 

"A  thousand  for  a  dime."  * 

*Baked  beans. 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  AUTUMN. 

The  autumn  days  are  nearly  gone, 

The  woods  will  soon  be  bare, 
The  birds  collecting  from  the  south 

Are   flying  here   and  there. 

The  sad  winds  sighing  through  the  trees, 

Make  such  a  mournful  sound, 
The  leaves  in  all  their  brightest  hues 

Are  falling  to  the  ground. 

The  pool  where  once  we  splashed  and  swam 

Is  now  so  hushed  and  still, 
The  autumn  rains  with  water  soft 

The  cistern  soon  will  fill. 

The  tumble  weeds  roll  here  and  there, 

All  husked  and  cut,  the  corn. 
The  grass  and  fence  rails  now  are  white 

With  frost  at  early  morn. 


Poems  by  Theodore  Henry  Shackelford 

The  cider  mill  is  busy  too, 

And  sweet  the  apple  juice, 
Which  Deacon  Brown  is  turning  out 

Just  for  his  private  use. 

The  golden-rod  stands  sentinel 

Along  the  winding  stream ; 
And  rising  from  the  crystal  depths 

Are  little  clouds  of  steam. 

The  frost  has  kissed  the  black  haw's  cheeks 

And  made  them  blacker  still. 
The  farmer  loads  his  corn  with  glee 

And  takes  it  to  the  mill. 

The  chipmunk  works  both  day  and  night, 

Nor  even  stops  to  sleep ; 
But  spends  his  time  in  storing  nuts 

Down  in  his  burrow  deep. 

The  crow  is  cawing  in  the  field, 

To  others  of  his  ilk, 
The  thistle  seeds  fly  far  and  near 

On  wings  of  softest  silk. 

The  air  is  hazy  in  the  day, 

And  very  chill  at  night. 
The  children  gather  up  the  leaves 

And  kindle  fires  bright. 

In  brand  new  suits  the  chickens  strut 

The  moulting  season  o'er. 
The  morning  glory  seeds  have  dropped 

Around  the  kitchen  door. 


19 


Poems  by  Theodore  Henry  Shackelford 

The  vines  are  loaded  down  with  grapes, 

So  sweet  and  large  and  blue, 
The  apple  trees  along  the  lane 

Are  heavy  laden  too. 

The  pop  corn  has  been  placed  to  dry 

Upon  the  kitchen  roof; 
The  shells  upon  the  hickory  nuts 

Have  curled  their  lips  aloof. 

Then  what  care  we  for  sighing  winds, 

Or  frost  at  early  morn? 
For  very  soon  we'll  crack  the  nuts, 

And  pop  and  eat  the  corn. 

Hurrah,  then  for  the  autumn  time, 

There's  plenty  to  be  done; 
And  wind  and  frost  will  only  add 

More  zest  to  our  fun. 


CATS. 

On  the  back  fence  ob  my  neighbo' 

On  a  cleah  and  frosty  night, 
Two  ole  tomcats  gray  an*  grizzled 

Met  to  hab  dey  usu'l  fight. 
An*  dey  made  de  evenin'  echo 

Wid  daih  yellin'  an*  daih  screams, 
Givin'  chillen  awful  nightmaihs, 

Wakin'  grown  folks  from  daih  dreams. 

Dis  had  been  de  nightly  'currence, 

Ev'ry  night  about  a  yeah ; 
Jis  dese  fightin',  screamin'  tomcats 

Dat  was  all  dat  you  could  hyeah. 


Poems  by  Theodore  Henry  Shackelford 

One  man  went  an*  bought  a  Volver 

Tickly  dem  same  cats  to  shoot; 
But  when  he  would  'proach  a  window 

My,  oh  my !  how  dey  would  scoot ! 

But  when  he  was  gone  you'd  see  'em, 

On  dat  same  old  back  yahd  fence, 
An*  dey'd  scratch  an*  bite  each  othah, 

'Case  dey  made  no  false  pretence ; 
On  the  evenin'  which  I  speaks  ob 

To  de  window  I  did  crawl ; 
An'  I  th'owed  my  big  ole  bootjack, 

'Fo'e  dey  knowed  I'd  th'owed  at  all. 

And  I  put  some  speed  behin*  it, 

But  it  missed  dem  feline  gents. 
And  I  tell  you  I  was  sorry, 

All  de  same  it  hit  de  fence. 
It  jus'  struck  right  close  behin'  'em, 

An'  it  skaihd  dem  tomcats  so, 
Dey  bofe  lef  de  fence  to-gethah, 

Landed  in  de  yahd  below ! 

In  dat  yahd  dair  was  a  bull-dog, 

Big  an'  cross,  but  lean  an'  thin. 
When  he  saw  dem  two  intrudahs 

On  daih  hides  he  did  begin! 
He  would  grab  'em  in  de  necks,  suh, 

And  would  toss  'em  in  de  aiah, 
Till  it  looked  jis  like  a  cyclone, 

Bulldog,  cats  an'  flyin'  haih ! 

Yes,  he  made  it  interestin', 

He  jis  nachly  raised  a  fog. 
Till  at  las'  de  man  dat  owned  him 

Come  out  daih  an'  kotched  his  dog. 

21 


Poems  by  Theodore  Henry  Shackelford 

Den*  you  ought  o'  seen  dem  tomcats, 

Makin'  time  out  ob  dat  yahd, 
When  at  las*  dey  retched  de  alley 

Man  dey  sho  was  runnin'  hahd! 

An*  dat  dog  I'd  gib  ten  dollahs 

Such  a  one  as  him  to  own, 
Faw  he  sholy  was  a  mona'ch 

An*  dat  yahd  it  was  his  th'one. 
Oh!  he  shook  'em  up  wid  vengeance 

An*  a  dollah  I  will  bet, 
If  dem  old  tomcats  ain't  drapped  dead 

Dey's  bofe  a-running  yet! 


THE  ALLIES. 


Sank  the  sun  in  purple  splendour 

On  the  shell-torn  Western  front 
Came  a  hush  along  the  sector 

Which  had  borne  the  battle's  brunt. 
Came  a  fleeting  moment's  respite, 

To  relax  and  calmly  wait, 
Till  should  start  anew  that  shelling 

Which  is  called  the  "Prayer  of  Hate." 

Lay  two  Allies  sorely  wounded 

In  a  crater  all  alone. 
One  suppressed  a  sob  of  anguish, 

One  withheld  a  smothered  groan. 
Spake  they  each  a  different  language, 

Came  they  each  from  different  climes. 
But  the  "ideal"  which  they  bled  for 

Made  them  brothers  through  all  times. 


Poems  by  Theodore  Henry  Shackelford 

"Friend,"  cries  one,  "my  day  is  over, 

You  have  still  a  chance,  so  go!" 
But  the  other  grim,  determined, 

Shakes  his  head  and  answers,  "No, 
Never  shall  the  heel  of  foeman 

Tread  upon  thy  helpless  head 
Till  my  soul  has  sought  its  Maker 

And  my  spark  of  life  has  fled." 

"There  will  be  no  quarter  given — 

We  are  brave,  there'll  be  none  sought — 
But  I  vow  that  those  who  take  us 

Soon  will  find  we're  dearly  bought. 
Side  by  side  we've  fought  together 

Since  this  conflict  first  began, 
Now,  with  death  so  near  and  certain, 

Each  must  prove  himself  a  man." 

Then  the  centimetres  thundered, 

And  the  mitraileuses  roared, 
And  the  gas,  like  fog  descended, 

And  into  the  tenches  poured. 
Quick  as  thought  one  wounded  comrade 

Places  on  the  other's  face 
Kis  own  mask,  and  takes  a  'kerchief, 

This  protection  to  replace. 

Hot,  and  hotter  grows  the  fighting, 

Shells  are  bursting  o'er  the  ground, 
While  their  deadly  molten  contents 

Spread  destruction  all  around. 
And  the  utter  devastation 

Which  ensues  no  tongue  can  tell, 
In  that  yellow  mist  is  lurking 

All  the  foul  fiends  of  hell ! 


Poems  by  Theodore  Henry  Shackelford 

Strong  men  strive  to  rise,  then  falter, 

Put  forever  from  the  fight. 
All  is  terror  and  confusion, 

All  is  chaos,  black  as  night! 
But  at  last  the  fog  has  lifted, 

Still  the  danger  is  not  past 
For  the  Prussians'  "Zero  Hour" 

Is  approaching  very  fast. 

Now  the  foe  is  "crossing  over," 

Now   the  bugle   sounds   "retreat," 
But  these  heroes  in  the  struggle 

Both  prepare  their  end  to  meet. 
One,  'tis  he  less  sorely  wounded, 

Fixes  for  them  both  the  guns, 
And  his  task  is  scarce  completed 

Ere  appear  the  hated  "Huns." 

And  they  smite  each  son  of  "Kultur" 

As  he  shows  his  brutish  face, 
Till  a  hand-to-hand  encounter 

In  the  shell-hole  then  takes  place. 
Now  they  rise  in  desperation 

As  their  foes  surround  the  spot. 
Now  their  bayonets  leap  like  lightning, 

Now  their  blows  fall  thick  and  hot! 

Though  out-numbered,  still  they  fought  them, 

Neither  was  their  fighting  vain, 
For  a  dozen  foes  lay  gory 

Ere  they  too  at  length  were  slain! 
Side  by  side  in  death  they  found  them, 

When  had  ceased  the  battle's  hum, 
One  the  "Fleur-de-lis"  was  wearing, 

One  from  Africa  had  come. 


An'  stirred  it  wid  huh  han'. 


Poems  by  Theodore  Henry  Shackelford 


MAMMY'S  CRACKLIN'  BREAD 


Sometimes  when  you  has  done  yo'  bes', 

But  t'ings  has  all  gone  wrong, 
An*  troubles  alrnos'  weights  you  down, 

As  you  goes  walkin*  'long. 
An',  p'r'aps,  you's  got  de  rheumatiz, 

An'  pains  across  yo'  head; 
Why,  all  you  need  to  fix  you  up 

Is  jis  some  cracklin'  bread. 

Dat  bread  it  wo'ks  like  magic,  suh ; 
Yo'  pains  all  vanish  'way ; 

An'  when  you  finish  eatin'  it 
You's  feelin*  mighty  gay. 

No  mattah  if  all  day  you  feet 
Has  felt  like  chunks  ob  lead, 
You  jis  feels  like  a-prancin'  when 
You  eats  dat  cracklin'  bread. 

Now  we  has  lots  o'  mode'n  cooks 

What  t'inks  dey  knows  a  lot, 
But  as  faw  makin'  cracklin'  bread, 

Why  dey  can't  eben  staht. 
My  mammy  was  a  "old-time  cook," 

So  all  ouah  neighbo's  said ; 
But  what  made  me  so  proud  ob  huh 

Was  mammy's  cracklin'  bread. 


Poems  by  Theodore  Henry  Shackelford 

Now  cracklin's  was  de  f  ings  she  got 

When  she  had  tried  out  lahd, 
An'  cooked  de  fat  an'  skins  an'  stuff 

'Till  dey  was  crisp  and  hahd. 
And  mammy  said  when  she  was  young 

On  cracklin's  she  was  fed, 
Dat's  why  she  was  so  good,  you  see 

At  makin'  cracklin'  bread. 

An'  when  she  took  dat  salt  an'  meal 

An'  put  it  in  de  pan, 
Thowed  in  'bout  dat  much  cracklin's  den, 

An'  stirred  it  wid  her  han', 
Po'wed  in  a  quaht  ob  souah  milk, 

An'  had  de  oben  red ; 
Why,  you  could  smell  a  mile  away 

Dat  good  ole  cracklin'  bread. 

On  Satu'days  my  fathah  would 

Dat  grist  mill  go  an'  seek, 
An*  he  would  bring  home  on  his  back 

Co'n  meal  to  las'  a  week. 
'Cause  Sundays,  when  de  chu'ch  was  out, 

An*  benediction  said, 
Folks  sho'  would  flock  to  ouah  house 

To  git  dat  cracklin'  bread. 

Once  I  was  bad  in  Sunday  school 
An'  stomped  an'  kicked  my  feet, 

When  teacher  come  to  tell  on  me, 
Paw  axed  him  in  to  eat ; 

He  stuffed  an'  stuffed  an'  den  got  up, 
'Thout  op'nin'  his  head, 
An'  what  kep'  him  from  tellin'  sho, 
Was  mammy's  cracklin'  bread. 

26 


Poems  by  Theodore  Henry  Shackelford 


Once  when  my  Paw  was  cuttin'  wood, 

He  got  hit  in  de  eye ; 
He  come  home  in  de  amberlance, 

De  doctah  said  he'd  die. 
He  wrapped  his  head  all  up  in  gauze, 

An*  propped  him  up  in  bed ; 
But  when  he  called  nex'  mornin',  Paw 

Was  eatin'  cracklin'  bread. 

An'  den  my  bruthah  taken  sick, 

Doc  said  he  couldn't  live. 

An'  nothin'  but  raw  eggs  an'  milk 

My  maw  to  him  should  give. 
But  mammy  jis  did  opposite 

To  all  de  doctah  said, 
Dat  kid  got  strong  an'  healthy,  too, 

On  mammy's  cracklin'  bread. 

Once  when  a  'oman  brought  her  chile 

To  play  on  ouah  lawn, 
A  bulldog  run  right  at  de  kid 

Befo'  dat  she  was  gone. 
An'  he  was  sho'  fierce-lookin',  too, 

His  eyes  was  big  an*  red. 
He  looked  so  bad  dat  mammy  run 

An'  lef  huh  cracklin'  bread. 

"Oh,  Lord,  please  save  dat  baby,  do !" 

My  mammy  cried  wid  feah. 
An'  mammy's  prayeh  was  answ'ed  den, 

Aldough  no  help  seemed  neah. 
I  stopped  him  in  his  head-long  rush — 

I  th'owed  an'  knocked  him  dead ! 
I  hit  dat  bulldog  wid  a  hunk 

Ob  mammy's  cracklin'  bread ! 


Poems  by  Theodore  Henry  Shackelford 


GOD  WILL  MAKE  IT  RIGHT. 

For  fifty  and  two  hundred  years 

Did  slavery  hold  its  sway; 
And  now,  though  fifty  more  have  passed 

It  still  exists  to-day. 
You  seem  to  doubt  my  falt'ring  words 

But  look  and  you  will  see 
That  when  a  man  is  bound  and  gagged 

He  surely  is  not  free. 

And  we  are  bound  for  men  dictate 

Where  we  must  go  to  eat; 
And  tell  us  that  we  must  vacate 

Some  sections  of  the  street. 
And  prejudice  is  sweeping  on 

With  strides  both  long  and  fast, 
And  we  are  gagged,  for  in  some  States 

Our  vote  we  may  not  cast. 

And  often  in  the  papers,  too, 

Most  dreadful  things  I  see, 
Of  lynchings  and  of  other  things 

To  hinder  you  and  me. 
Unbidden  tears  flow  down  my  cheeks 

As  I  sit  there  alone; 
"God  pity  us!"   I  cry  aloud 

To  Him  on  Heaven's  throne. 


Poems  by  Theodore  Henry  Shackelford 

Then  instant  comfort  comes  to  me, 

The  sun  shines  out  again, 
And  I  a  brighter  future  see, 

I  have  not  prayed  in  vain. 
We  do  not  need  to  fret  and  grieve 

When  billows  round  us  roll, 
Prayer  is  the  panacea  which 

Will  comfort  every  soul. 

For  God  will  help  us  if  our  cares 

Upon  Him  we  will  cast, 
And  through  the  storm  will  guide  the  ship 

To  harbor  safe  at  last. 
No  burdens  great,  like  mountains  then 

Shall  loom  upon  our  sight. 
And  all  the  wrongs  which  we've  endured 

The  Savior  will  make  right. 

Then  on  that  happy  blissful  shore 

No  sorrow  we  shall  feel ; 
"There  moth  and  rust  shall  not  corrupt 

Nor  thieves  break  through  and  steal." 
No  prejudice,  nor  vice,  nor  crime 

Shall  in  those  walls  abide 
For  those  who  cherish  evil  hearts 

May  enter  not,  inside. 

There  unjust  men  shall  not  dictate 

Nor  sit  upon  the  throne. 
God  rules  supreme  on  that  estate, 

It  is  His  very  own. 
There  murm'ring  brooks  forever  flow 

Through  gardens  fair  and  wide; 
There  rich  and  fragrant  flowers  grow ; 

There  love  and  peace  abide. 


29 


Poems  by  Theodore  Henry  Shackelford 


NOW  THEY  BELIEVE  ME. 

Just  why  it  was,  I've  often  tried, 

But  still  I  cannot  see, 
Whate'er  I  said  when  I  was  young 

Folks  always  doubted  me; 
"I'm  going  to  leave  you,  Paw,"  said  I, 

When  I  became  a  youth; 
"Aw,  shut  up,  boy,"  said  paw  to  me, 

"You  never  tell  the  truth !" 
Now  he  believes  me,  but  it's  too  late! 

Out  in  the  country  one  spring  day 

I  caught  a  little  squirrel, 
And  on  my  way  returning  home 

I  met  a  little  girl; 
She  asked  me  to  give  him  to  her, 

I  told  her  he  would  bite; 
She  said  "I  want  him  just  the  same, 

I  guess  he'll  act  all  right." 
Now  she  believes  me,  but  it's  too  late! 

We  had  a  pet  canary  once, 

We  called  him  "little  Pete," 
And  on  the  floor  he  used  to  hop, 

In  search  of  crumbs  to  eat; 
And  so  one  day  I  said  to  him: 

"Now,  Pete,  stay  off  that  floor 
Or  else  that  cat  will  fix  you  so 

That  you  can't  sing  no  more." 
Now  he  believes  me,  but  it's  too  late! 


30 


Poems  by  Theodore  Henry  Shackelford 

There  was  a  boy  next  door  to  us, 

And  he  was  awful  bad; 
He  used  to  pick  the  grapes  from  off 

The  only  vine  we  had. 
And  so  one  day  I  said  to  him, 

"Here's  what  I'm  going  to  do: 
Next  time  I  catch  you  in  this  yard 

I'll  sic  my  dog  on  you." 
Now  he  believes  me,  but  it's  too  late! 

We  used  to  have  an  apple  tree 

A-growing  in  our  yard; 
I  saw  my  brother  eating  some 

When  they  were  green  and  hard. 
I  said  "Don't  eat  another  one, 

They're  green  as  they  can  be, 
For  if  you  do,  I'll  bet  you'll  wish 

You'd  never  seen  a  tree." 
Now  he  believes  me,  but  it's  too  late! 

Out  in  a  berry  patch  one  day 

We  saw  a  hornet's  nest; 
It  was  admired  very  much 

By  me  and  all  the  rest. 
"I'm  going  to  poke  it  with  a  stick," 

A  fellow  said  to  me. 
"Now,  if  you  touch  that  tree"  said  I, 

"You'll  wish  you'd  let  it  be." 
Now,  he  believes  mee,  but  it's  too  late! 

A  neighbor,  who  lived  close  to  us, 

Once  let  a  credit  man 
Sell  him  a  new  pianoforte 

Upon  the  credit  plan. 

31 


Poems  by  Theodore  Henry  Shackelford 

"Now,  don't  you  do  it,"  I  advised; 

"To  pay  the  cash  is  best, 
For  if  you  get  in  debt  to  him 

He'll  never  let  you  rest." 
Now  he  believes  me,  but  it's  too  late! 

I  used  to  run  a  chicken  ranch. 

An  enemy  of  mine 
One  night  came  there  and  stole  from  me 

A  pair  of  broilers  fine ; 
As  he  was  leaving,  I  called  out, 

"Now,  if  you  start  to  run 
I'll  have  to  pull  this  little  thing 

That  sticks  beneath  my  gun." 
Now  he  believes  me,  but  it's  too  late! 

A  friend  of  mine  once  loved  a  girl, 

JTwas  many  years  ago, 
And  he  would  seek  me  for  advice, 

As  fellows  will,  you  know. 
"Don't  you  think  we're  a  dandy  pair?" 

He  grinned  and  said  to  me. 
"Pal,  if  you  marry  her,"  said  I, 

"You'll  wish  that  you  were  free." 
Now  he  believes  me,  but  it's  too  late! 


PERSEVERANCE. 


Though  you  "try  again"  and  fail, 
Never  cease  from  trying; 

But  with  spirit  brave  advance 
Failure's  threats  defying. 


32 


Poems  bj  Theodore  Henry  Shackelford 

Disappointments  there  will  be 

Which  will  sorely  trouble; 
But  to  those  who  conquer  them 

Strength  will  then  come  double. 
I 

Though  your  cherished  hopes  may  lie 

Trodden  in  the  mire, 
Though   the   goal   so   distant  seems 

Which  you  most  desire; 
Though  the  lightnings  cleave  the  sky, 

Though  the  darkness  hide  you; 
If  your  course  you  still  pursue, 

God  above  will  guide  you. 


WHEN  MY  SHIP  COMES  IN. 

Rough  the  course  and  long  the  voyage, 

Which  my  "ship  of  dreams"  has  sailed. 
Great  the  prizes  which  were  offered, 

Great  her  chances  to  have  failed. 
In  suspense  she  long  has  kept  me, 

Waiting  for  her  day  by  day; 
Praying  that  she,  in  strange  waters, 

Might  not  sink  nor  lose  her  way. 

But  today  my  heart  is  lighter 

As  I  feel  the  steady  breeze, 
And  my  glass  sweeps  o'er  the  white-caps, 

Out  to  where,  upon  the  seas 
Bearing  every  inch  of  canvas, 

Standing  proudly  round  the  bar, 
Making  for  the  inner  harbor, 

I  can  see  my  ship  afar. 


33 


Poems  by  Theodore  Henry  Shackelford 


THE  THREE  HUNDRED  AND  SIXTY- 
EIGHTH  INFANTRY. 

Go  on  Three  Hundred  Sixty-Eighth, 

Go  on  in  Heaven's  name! 
There's  work  ahead  which  you  must  do 

If  you  would  conquer  fame.' 
You'll  meet  with  hardships  on  the  way 

To  try  the  bravest  soul. 
But  never  let  them  hinder  you 

From  getting  to  the  goal. 

Go  on  Three  Hundred  Sixty-Eighth, 

You're  noble  soldiers,  all. 
No  truer  men  on  all  the  earth 

Have  heard  their  country's  call. 
Yet  there  are  critics  watching  you, 

To  see  how  you  fall  in; 
So  let  them  see  that  by  God's  grace 

You're  going  out  to  win. 

Go  on  Three  Hundred  Sixty-Eighth, 

Prepare  to  do  your  share. 
We  know  there'll  be  a  hot  old  time 

When  you  get  "over  there." 
"Your  country  needs  you,"  falter  not, 

Though  others  "slack"  and  "shirk" ; 
Roll  up  your  sleeves  and  show  the  world 

That  you  know  how  to  work. 

Go  on  Three  Hundred  Sixty-Eighth, 

Go  prove  your  loyalty, 
And  do  your  bit  to  "make  the  world 

Safe  for  Democracy." 

34 


Poems  by  Theodore  Henry  Shackelford 

Go  help  avenge  poor  Belgium's  wrongs, 

Expose  the  "fake,"  the  "sham," 
And  get  the  glory  which  belongs 

To  "Sons  of  Uncle  Sam." 


ELENOR. 

Turn  low  the  lights  in  the  sad,  lonely  hall, 

Tenderly  smooth  out  her  hair, 
For  she  has  answered  the  grim  reaper's  call, 

She  who  was  gentle  and  fair. 
Scatter  the  roses  all  over  her  bier, 

Shower  the  leaves  at  her  feet; 
Gone  is  my  ideal,  my  joy  and  my  cheer. 

God,  what  an  awful  defeat! 

Draw  to  the  blinds  from  the  world's  thought 
less  gaze, 

Keep  her  shut  in  from  their  sight. 
My  heart,  is  bleeding,  my  mind  is  adaze, 

My  soul  is  bereft  of  its  light! 

Close  up  the  harpsichord,  'tis  not  needed  now, 

Her  fingers  can  touch  not  the  keys. 
No  more  at  her  playing  shall  royalty  bow 

Nor  poor  weary  souls  feel  at  ease. 
Silent  the  mansion  where  once  music  rang, 

Driving  all  sorrow  away, 
Hushed  are  those  lips  which  so  tenderly  sang, 

My  love  is  dreaming  today. 
There  'neath  the  roses  so  gently  she  sleeps, 

There  rests  the  one  I  adore. 
My  sun  went  down  the  passing  of  you; 

Farewell,  my  sweet  Elenor. 

35 


Poems  by  Theodore  Henry  Shackelford 


THE  GOOD  OLD  SHIP  SAILED  ON. 

Once  a  builder  built  himself  a  boat 

To  ride  on  stormy  seas. 
She  was  staunch  as  any  ship  afloat, 

And  she  took  the  waves  with  ease. 
As  he  launched  her  for  her  trial  trip 

To  be  a  long  time  gone, 
The  breezes  blew,  the  canvas  filled, 

So  the  good  old  ship  sailed  on. 

Then  a  storm  arose,  and  the  lightning  flashed, 

And  the  thunders  loudly  rolled, 
And  the  vessel  past  a  lighthouse  dashed, 

Where  the  bell  its  warning  tolled. 
But  the  sailors  which  the  captain  chose 

Possessed  both  brain  and  brawn 
So  that  as  the  day  drew  to  its  close 

Why  the  good  old  ship  sailed  on. 

Though  no  stars  came  out  and  the  night  grew 
black, 

And  the  billows  tossed  and  roared 
Though  no  other  vessel  crossed  her  track 

And  the  rain  in  torrents  poured. 
Still  the  men  kept  heart  and  worked  along, 

And  at  last  appeared  the  dawn; 
Then  they  all  burst  forth  in  a  merry  song 

And  the  good  old  ship  sailed  on. 


36 


Poems  by  Theodore  Henry  Shackelford 


NONE  THERE. 

Once  Bridget  Murphy  used  to  work 

Down  in  a  small  hotel. 
And  why  she  hated  colored  folks 

Was  hard  indeed  to  tell. 
But  when  a  rich  old  uncle  died 

And  willed  to  her  his  all, 
A  dozen  servants  she  employed 

To  answer  to  her  call. 

But  not  a  colored  man  or  maid 

Was  ever  seen  around, 
For  Bridget  said  "upon  my  place 

No  nygers  shall  be  found," 
And  mean  and  meaner  Bridget  grew 

Until  at  last  one  morn 
The  angel  Gabriel  came  to  her 

And  loudly  blew  his  horn. 

And  Bridget,  then  upon  her  knees, 

Said  in  her  last  long  prayer, 
"Please  take  me  where  no  nygers  are, 

For  them  folks  I  can't  bear." 
"In  purgatory,"  Gabriel  said, 

"You'll  find  there  are  a  few; 
Some  in  the  first,  some  in  the  last, 

Some  in  the  middle  pew." 

Then  Bridget,  who  was  quick  of  speech, 

Said  "I  would  not  object 
If  into  Heaven's  pearly  gates 

I  took  my  flight  direct." 


37 


Poems  by  Theodore  Henry  Shackelford 

"But,  oh,  you'll  find  large  numbers  there," 

The  angel  meekly  said. 
"Well,  find  a  place  where  they  can't  come" ! 

Said  Bridget,  turning  red. 

Then  Gabriel's  wrath  was  all  turned  loose, 

No  longer  was  he  meek. 
But  like  a  lion  then  roared  he, 

As  Bridget  heard  him  speak, 
"All  right  then,  madam,  you  shall  go — 

In  answer  to  your  prayer — 
To  hell,  and  to  its  hottest  part, 

You'll  find  no  nygers  there." 


SONNET. 

Oh,  care-free  youth  one  word  I  pray, 
That  age  just  now  might  speak  to  thee. 
For  thine  own  sake  give  ear  to  me, 
And  heed  the  words  I  speak  to-day; 
For  wisdom  comes  when  heads  are  gray, 
And  eyes  are  dim  and  scarce  can  see. 
But  how  much  better  it  would  be 
Before  our  best  has  passed  away, 
Would  we  conserve  both  mind  and  health 
For  times  when  we  should  be  in  need. 
Nor  spend-thrifts  be  to  squander  wealth 
And  neither  be  a  slave  to  greed. 
But  strive  to  live  as  years  unfold 
A  life  of  service  e'en  though  old. 


88 


Poems  by  Theodore  Henry  Shackelford 


THE  BIG  BELL  IN  ZION. 

Come,  children,  hear  the  joyful  sound, 

Ding,  Dong,  Ding. 
Go  spread  the  glad  newrs  all  around, 

Ding,  Dong,  Ding. 

Chorus. 

Oh,  the  big  bell's  tollin'  up  in  Zion, 
The  big  bell's  tollin'  up  in  Zion, 
The  big  bell's  tollin'  up  in  Zion, 
Ding,  Dong  Ding. 

I've  been  abused  and  tossed  about, 

Ding,  Dong,  Ding. 
But  glory  to  the  Lamb,  I  shout! 

Ding,  Dong,  Ding. 

My  buthah  jus'  sent  word  to  me, 

Ding,  Dong,  Ding. 
That  he'd  done  set  his  own  self  free. 

Ding,  Dong,  Ding. 

Ole  massa  said  he  could  not  go, 

Ding,  Dong,  Ding. 
But  he's  done  reached  Ohio  sho'. 

Ding,  Dong,  Ding. 

Ise  gwine  to  be  real  nice  an*  meek, 

Ding,  Dong,  Ding. 
Den  I'll  run  away  myself  nex'  week. 

Ding,  Dong,  Ding. 


Poems  by  Theodore  Henry  Shackelford 


THEN  ALOUD  I  CRY. 

Sometimes  I  feel  like  Ise  got  wings 

An*  able  mos'  to  fly, 
Till  Satan  comes  an*  clips  'em  off 

An*  den  aloud  I  cry. 

Chorus. 

Den  aloud  I  cry, 

Den  aloud  I  cry,  j 

Till  Satan  comes  an*  clips  'em  off, 
An'  den  aloud  I  cry. 

Some  folks  preten'  dey's  livin'  saints 

An'  ready  den  to  die; 
But  when  dey  t'ink  dey's  got  to  go 

Why  den  aloud  dey  cry. 

Some  folks  rise  up  so  high  in  life 

Dey  pass  daih  friends  on  by 
Until  dey  git  a  real  hahd  fall 

An'  den  aloud  dey  cry. 

Some  folks  drink  whiskey  through  de  week 

An'  steal,  an'  cheat,  an'  lie. 
On  Sundays,  dough,  dey  go  to  church 

An'  den  aloud  dey  cry. 

Some  folks  dey  run  down  othah  folks, 

But  sneak  out  on  de  sly 
Until  you  ketch  'em  in  daih  sins 

An*  den  aloud  dey  cry. 


40 


In  thinkin'  'bout  de  days  gone  by. 


Poems  by  Theodore  Henry  Shackelford 


DE  SWEET  CO'N  PATCH 


In  thinkin'  'bout  de  days  gone  by, 

(Dem  sho'  was  happy  days) 
I  sometimes  stops  an'  dwells  upon 

My  pas',  wild,  reckless  ways. 
An'  den  I  nab  to  wondah  whaih 

Dat  I  right  now  would  be, 
If  som'pin  hadn't  teched  my  heaht 

An'  made  a  change  in  me. 

'Cause  I  would  go  in  comp'ny  bad, 
An*  we  wid  joy  would  shout, 

When  in  de  wustest  debbilment 
Dat  we  could  tink  about, 

But  one  time — which  I  'members  well- 
When  I  sho'  met  my  match, 

Was  when  I  went  one  time  too  much, 
In  Youngses'  sweet  co'n  patch. 

Mos'  ebry  night  we'd  go  out  daih 

Wid  sha'pened  sticks  an'  wiah, 
An'  we  would  steal  de  bigges'  yeahs 

An'  roas'  'em  in  de  fiah. 
An'  so  one  evenin'  as  de  sun 

Was  slowly  goin'  down, 
You  mout  ha'  seen  me  on  de  road 

'Bout  half  a  mile  frurn  town. 


41 


Poems  by  Theodore  Henry  Shackelford 

I  fust  come  to  a  fiel'  ob  beans, 

An'  den  de  sweet  co'n  patch, 
I  slipped  in  froo  de  wiah  fence 

An'  nebber  got  a  scratch. 
Now  ole  man  Young  dat  vaihy  day, 

While  he  was  strollin'  roun', 
Had  seen  de  cobs  an'  shucks  we  lef 

A  layin'  on  de  groun'. 

j 

He  stopped  an*  studied  up  a  way 

Dat  he  could  hab  some  fun. 
He  sent  his  wife  to  town  an'  got 

Some  rock-salt  faw  his  gun. 
Now  when  he  shot  dat  gun  ob  his 

It  sho'  did  make  some  fuss. 
It  flaihed  out  kind  o'  funnel  shape — 

'Twas  called  a  blundah-buss. 

Well,  as  I  slid  in  froo  dat  fence, 

An'  stood  upon  his  place, 
Why,  "Ole  Man  Young"  an'  dat  ah  gun 

Was  lookin'  in  my  face ! 
An'  he  stood  daih  faw  quite  a  while, 

But  not  a  wohd  he  said. 
An'  great  big  draps  ob  sweat  like  dat 

Popped  out  upon  my  head. 

An'  I  was  tremblin'  in  de  knees, 

An'  knowed  not  what  to  do, 
Until  he  went  to  prime  dat  gun, 

An'  den  I  almos'  flew ! 
You  ought  to  seen  me  cleah  dat  fence, 

An*  git  out  ob  dat  co'n, 
He  yelled  at  me  to  halt,  you  know, 

But  I  jis  kep'  right  on. 


42 


Poems  by  Theodore  Henry  Shackelford 

,_-,___  ,_,- __  ---...  .         -.- V^*— **?* 

An'  when  he  seen  I  didn't  stop, 

When  he  tol'  me  to  halt, 
He  raised  dat  blundah-buss  an*  filled 

My  breeches  full  ob  salt! 
An'  den  I  did  commence  to  sprint, 

I  made  a  awful  dash, 
An'  passed  dat  co'n  an'  beans  so  fas' 

It  looked  like  succotash 

An'  as  I  clim'  de  hill  faw  home 

My  eyes  was  filled  with  teahs, 
Which  was  de  las'  dat  I  has  shed 

In  lo !  dese  fohty  yeahs. 
'Cause  now  if  I  gits  in  a  place 

Whaih  trouble's  apt  to  hatch, 
My  mind  goes  back  wid  lightnin*  speed 

To  dat  ah  sweet  co'n  patch. 


SOME  DAY 


Some  day,  my  trials  here  will  cease, 
Some  day,  my  failures  will  be  o'er; 
Some  day,  I'll  close  my  eyes  in  peace, 
Some  day,  I'll  rest  forever  more. 

Some  day,  I'll  break  these  prison  bars, 
Some  day,  my  soul  shall  mount  up,  free! 
Some  day,  my  crown  bedecked  with  stars 
Some  day,  I'll  dwell,  my  Lord  with  Thee. 


43 


Poems  by  Theodore  Henry  Shackelford 


NOAH  AN*  DE  AHK. 
An  Ante-bellum  Sermon. 


We  will  take  faw  ouah  subjec' 

What  de  scripshurs  give  to  us. 
Gene-sees,  de  seventh  chaptah — 

Fust  to  twenty-second  vuss. 
Now,  de  worl'  had  got  so  wicked 

Dat  de  people  wan't  no  good. 
An*  de  Lawd  had  done  tole  Noah 

"Make  an  ahk  of  gophah  wood." 

Faw  a  hundahd  yeahs  aw  ovah 

Noah's  fambly  wohked  away, 
While  de  sinnahs  stood  aroun'  'em 

Laffin',  teasin',  all  de  day. 
But  at  las'  de  ahk  was  finished 

So  de  watah  it  would  shed. 
Den  de  clouds  commenced  to  gathah, 

An'  to  blacken  ovah-head. 

Den  ole  Noah  he  got  busy 

Wid  de  birds  dat  goes  on  wings, 
An*  de  rats,  an'  mice,  an'  bed  bugs, 

An*  de  othah  creapin'  t'ings. 
Den  he  driv  'em  in  his  ahk,  suh, 

An'  dey  scrouged  up  clost  to  him, 
Like  a  possum  when  he's  hongry 

Scrouges  on  a  simmon  limb. 


44 


Poems  by  Theodore  Henry  Shackelford 

Den  de  win*  hit  stahted  blowin' 

An'  de  rain  comminced  to  poah, 
While  de  lightnin'  flashed  an*  crackled, 

An'  upon  de  Ian*  did  roah. 
Den  de  peoples  all  got  frightened, 

An*  dey'd  run  aroun'  an'  scream. 
An'  de  whole  creation  acted 

Like  a  night-maih  in  a  dream. 

An'  de  watahs  suh  was  bilin' 

Like  a  kittle  when  its  full 
An'  de  illiments  was  loosened 

Like  a  aggrivated  bull. 
An'  de  mountings  rocked  an'  trimbled 

While  dem  rain  clouds  bust  an*  fell ; 
An'  de  worl'  was  covahed  deepah 

Dan  Ise  got  de  tongue  to  tell. 

Den  at  las'  you  know  de  gushers 

Ob  de  deep  was  all  cut  loose, 
An'  dem  springs  a  spoutin'  watah 

In  dat  ocean  raised  de  doose. 
An'  de  wicked  kep'  a-yellin', 

An'  a-swingin'  on  dat  ahk; 
But  ole  Noah  an'  his  fambly 

Was  as  happy  as  a  lahk. 

Yes,  suh,  sisterin  an'  breth'en, 

He  was  mighty  happy,  too, 
Knowin'  dat  he'd  done  his  dooty 

Like  de  Lawd  done  tole  him  to. 
An'  faw  fohty  days  dat  watah 

Kep'  a-churnin'  up  an'  down 
T'well  it  almos'  seemed  a  myst'ry 

Dat  de  fishes  didn't  drown. 


Poems  by  Theodore  Henry  Shackelford 

But  at  las'  it  ceased  a-rainin' 

An'  dey  settled  on  a  rock. 
Noah  den  shoved  up  de  winder — 

Poked  his  noggin  out  de  ahk. 
Den  he  sent  him  out  a  raven, 

But  de  watah  was  so  wet 
Dat  de  raven  didn't  tarry, 

Ca'se  daih  wasn't  no  place  to  set. 

Noah  sent  a  dove  out  nex'  den, 

An'  he  flew  right  straight  down  Souf, 
Till  he  foun'  some  olive  branches 

An'  he  brought  dem  in  his  mouf. 
Den  you  oughter  hyeah  de  shoutin' 

Noah  whooped  an'  yelled  faw  faih. 
Yes,  suh,  chillen  dey  was  happy, 

When  dat  happened  ovah  daih. 

I  kin  see  ole  Noah  runnin' 

Wid  dem  switches  in  his  han', 
'Ca'se  he  knowed  dat  dove  had  got  'em 

Whaih  dey  growed  upon  dry  Ian'. 
But  he  staid  a  few  days  longah, 

Den  he  come  on  out  de  ahk, 
An*  I  know  dat  he  was  tiahd 

Stayin'  so  long  in  de  dahk. 

I  kin  see  him  an'  de  critters 

Comin'  out  ob  doo's  again, 
Glad  dat  dey  could  stretch  daih  limbs,  suh, 

'Thout  'em  gettin*  soaked  wid  rain. 
Den  he  set  him  out  a  vine-yahd, 

An'  de  grapes  jis*  growed  so  fine 
Dat  ole  Noah  went  to  wohk,  suh, 

Made  a  hogshead  full  ob  wine. 


46 


Poems  by  Theodore  Henry  Shackelford 

An  right  daih  his  trouble  stahted 

An'  he  acted  like  a  dunce, 
Took  dat  hogshead  full  of  wine,  suh, 

An1  he  drinked  it  up  at  once. 
I'll  attemp'  no  exegesis, 

Naw  profoun*  philosophy, 
But  I'll  use  de  plaines'  langrage 

So  as  I  kin  make  you  see. 

Now  de  pint  I  wants  to  'lustrate 

Is,  de  trouble  he  got  in 
Come  from  bein'  so  intemprit. 

Dat  was  whaih  he  done  de  sin. 
Hyeah  he  drinked  up  all  dat  wine,  suh, 

Coin*  at  dat  rapid  gait; 
While  'twould  lasted  all  de  wintah 

Had  he  been  mo'e  moderate. 


NOW  I'VE  CHANGED. 


Oft*   I've  hungered   for   riches,   position   and 

wealth, 

For  a  place  as  it  were  in  the  sun, 
For   a  monument  grand  which   would  stand 

o'er  my  grave, 

When  my  task  upon  earth  had  been  done. 
And  I  envied  the  rich  man  and  longed  for  his 

ease, 

And  the  servants  who  came  to  his  call, 
And  the  silver  and  gold  which  he  squandered 

at  will, 
Just  as  though  it  were  nothing  at  all. 

47 


Poems  by  Theodore  Henry  Shackelford 

Then  one  night  in  a  dream  I  grew  suddenly 

rich, 

There  was  gold,  yellow  gold,  all  around, 
And  the  walls  of  my  mansion  with  precious 

stones  gleamed, 

For  my  treasures  e'en  covered  the  ground. 
And  refined  invitations  embellished  with  gold 

To  the  rich  and  the  great  I  did  send. 
There  were  scores  who  responded  and  came  to 

my  feast, 
But  I  saw  not  the  face  of  a  friend. 


When  at  last  it  was  over  the  guests  rose  to  go, 

Amid  bowing  and  scraping  to  me, 
And  they  each  one  declared  me  the  greatest  of 

hosts, 

But  deceit  in  their  eyes  I  could  see. 
Then  came  a  grand  fellow  who  bowed  to  the 

floor, 

For  a  moment  I  swelled  in  my  pride: 
Then  he  drew  out  a  dagger  to  plunge  in  my 

heart ! 
I  awoke,  or  from  fear  I  had  died. 

Now,  I  pray  for  a  heart  that  from  envy  is  free, 

For  a  soul  that  is  pure  as  the  dew, 
For  a  mind  in  which  dwells  but  the  noblest  of 
thoughts, 

For  a  life  that  is  humble  and  true. 
For  he  profiteth  not,  though  a  man  may  be 
great 

If  his  greatness  is  boughten  with  strife, 
Though  he  gather  the  riches  of  Croesus  himself 

If  to  gain  it  he  giveth  his  life. 


48 


Poems  by  Theodore  Henry  Shackelford 


ODE  TO  FREDERICK  DOUGLASS. 
(One  hundred  years  after  his  birth.) 

Oh,  statesman,  orator,  and  friend, 

Our  thanks  to  thee  we  bring, 
This  centenary  of  thy  birth 

A  song  we  also  sing. 
But  much  too  weak  our  voices  are 

And  far  too  slight  the  praise 
To  e'er  repay  thee  for  the  good 

Accomplished  in  thy  days. 

When  slavery's  galling  yoke  oppressed 

Thy  weak,  submissive  race, 
And  human  beings  bowed  their  heads 

In  misery  and  disgrace. 
When  oft*  the  fairest  womanhood 

Was  placed  by  driver  bold 
On  auction  block  in  scant  attire 

To  be  like  chattels  sold. 

And  then  to  rice  and  cotton  fields 

Like  dumb  brutes  to  be  driven, 
And  robbed  and  cheated  of  the  rights 

Which  God  to  them  had  given, 
While  stinging  lash,  and  galling  chain 

Brought  forth  heart-rending  cries, 
Then  thou  denounced  that  hellish  wrong 

In  tones  which  reached  the  skies. 

And,  used  no  sugar  coating,  thou, 
To  make  thy  words  more  sweet, 

But  spoke  of  slavery  as  a  crime 
Which   Christians   should   defeat. 


49 


Poems  by  Theodore  Henry  Shackelford 

Thou  told  the  Nation  of  its  sin 

Until  in  sheer  alarm 
The  violators  of  God's  laws 

Strove  hard  to  do  the  harm. 

But  still  thy  efforts  never  ceased, 

Nor  wouldst  thou  compromise 
To  hold  thy  peace  and  close  thine  ears 

Against  thy  kinsman's  cries. 
Thy  seed  took  root,  sprang  up  and  grew, 

Brought  forth  an  hundred  fold 
The  harvest  of  thy  planting  then 

Was  wond'rous  to  behold. 

Thy  words  were  hurled  from  coast  to  coast 

And  burned  like  living1  fire, 
Till  other  souls  were  set  aflame 

By  thy  sincere  desire. 
And  to  thy  side  came  fearless  men, 

Who  wore  no  coat  of  gauze, 
But  armed  with  truth  and  righteousness, 

They  championed  thy  cause. 

Then  when  secession  rent  the  land, 

And  war  had  been  declared, 
At  thy  request  the  Negro 

In  self  defense  was  bared, 
And  eighty  thousand  men  or  more, 

Brave,  loyal  Negroes  all, 
Who  laughed  at  death  for  freedom's  sake, 

Did  answer  to  the  call. 

And  by  their  aid  the  day  was  won, 

The  Union  was  maintained, 
And  those,  but  late  in  bondage  held 

Their  liberty  had  gained. 


50 


Poems  by  Theodore  Henry  Shackelford 

Nor  didst  thou  seek  for  selfish  praise, 

Nor  hope  for  further  pay 
Than  this  that  thou  might  welcome  in 

The  dawn  of  Freedom's  Day. 

Now  though  thy  form  lies  mouldering 

Thy  fame  has  spread  abroad, 
Until  the  mention  of  thy  name 

Doth  cause  men  to  applaud. 
For  O,  how  well  thy  work  was  done! 

Thou  left  no  stone  unturned. 
Thy  name  in  blazing  characters 

Upon  our  hearts  is  burned. 

Thy  children's  children  tell  their  sons 

About  thy  deeds  sublime. 
Thy  history   shall   be  preserved 

Until  the  end  of  time. 
And  echoes  of  thy  eloquence 

Through  this  proud  land  shall  ring, 
Till  thou  receive  thy  starry  crown 

From  Jesus  Christ  the  King. 


IN  THAT  GREAT  DAY. 

When  we're  crossing  over  Jordan, 

And  the  wicked  have  not  any  place  to  stand, 
I'll  be  walking  with  my  Saviour, 

I'll  be  walking  with  my  Saviour  on  dry  land. 

Chorus. 

In  that  great  day, 
In  that  great  day, 
In  that  great  day  in  the  morning, 
I'll  be  there.  (Repeat) 


51 


Poems  by  Theodore  Henry  Shackelford 

When  this  whole  world  is  in  darkness, 
And  the  wicked  run  around  and  cannot  see, 

I'H  be  walking  with  my  Saviour, 
And  I  know  He'll  be  light  enough  for  me. 

'V*>#M;^:H-X^:- 

When  this  whole  world  starts  to  tremble, 

And  the  wicked  fear,  and  cannot  stand  the 

shock, 
I'll  be  standing  with  my  Saviour, 

And  I  know  He's  the  everlasting  rock. 

V/hen  the  mountains  start  to  falling, 

And  the  wicked  have  not  any  place  to  flee, 

I'll  be  standing  with  my  Saviour 
And  I  know  I'll  be  safe  eternally. 

When  this  whole  world  is  on  fire 

And  the  wicked  through  the  flames  will  have 

to  grope, 
I'll  be  standing  with  my  Saviour 

And  I  know  He  is  life  and  joy,  and  hope. 


THOUGH  THE  EAGLE  MAY  SOAR 

I  have  a  strange  story  to  relate  tonight, 

You  don't  hear  its  kind  every  day. 
It  tells  of  a  maiden  betrothed  to  a  youth; 

It  tells  how  she  wandered  astray. 
The   fellow   was   constant,    although   he   was 
young; 

He  loved  her  more  than  his  own  life. 
He  dreamed  of  the  future  and  what  it  would 
bring; 

He  planned  soon  to  make  her  his  wife. 


52 


Poems  by  Theodore  Henry  Shackelford 

Alas  though !  the  maid  met  a  wealthier  man 

And  moved  to  a  far,  distant  state. 
The  youth,  broken  hearted,  but  still  trusting 

on 

Became  reconciled  to  his  fate. 
He  said  though  the  eagle  may  spread  out  its 

wings 

And  soar  to  a  far  dizzy  height, 
Yet  he,   like   the   sparrow,   the   swallow,  the 

wren, 
Must  come  to  his  nest  at  night. 

He  governed  his  temper,  and  plodded  along 

Till  fortune  rewarded  his  toil. 
He   then   bought  a  mansion   surrounded   by 
lands, 

And  lavished  his  love  on  the  soil. 
And  rich  vegetation  sprang  up  at  his  touch 

And  flowers  made  cheery  the  way. 
The  poor  and  the  needy  he  ne'er  over-looked, 

But  brought  joy  to  some  one  each  day. 

! 

He  made  others  better  and  this  his  reward, 

Contentment,  and  sunshine,  and  love, 
And   God  gave  him  riches,   companions   and 
friends, 

And  guided  his  steps  from  above, 
For  deeds  like  an  eagle  may  sail  far  away, 

And  often  be  lost  from  our  sight, 
But  they,  like  the  sparrow,  the  swallow,  the 
wren, 

Must  come  to  their  nests  at  night. 


63 


Poems  by  Theodore  Henry  Shackelford 

One  cold  winter's  evening  a  knock  at  the  door 

Did  call  servants  thither  in  fright, 
And  there  stood  a  woman  in  deepest  distress — 

She  was  a  most  pitiful  sight — 
Her  voice,  cracked  and  shaky,  could  scarcely 
be  heard, 

Her  features  were  haggard  and  worn. 
Her  hair  was  quite  thin,  and  was  sprinkled 
with  gray, 

Her  clothing  was  tattered  and  torn. 

She  looked  at  the  servants  and  tremblingly 

said : 

"I  beg  you  don't  turn  me  away. 
For  as  you  treat  others  in  going  through  life. 

Like  that  you'll  be  treated  some  day. 
Although  the  great  eagle  may  spread  out  his 

wings 

And  rise  to  a  wonderful  height, 
Yet  he,   like   the   sparrow,   the   swallow,   the 
wren, 

Must  come  to  his  nest  at  night." 

i  ; . 

They  brought  the  poor  creature  without  more 

ado 

Into  the  grand  mansion,  so  warm, 
They  fed  her  and  clothed  her  and  nursed  her 

with  care, 

They  shielded  her  head  from  the  storm. 
Then  ere  she  departed  the  story  she  told 

Of  how  she  had  come  to  such  shame. 
She  said  "although  others  have  helped  bring  it 

on 
Yet  I  most  of  all  am  to  blame." 


54 


Poems  by  Theodore  Henry  Shackelford 

"Once  I  was  engaged  to  a  noble  young  man, 

I  promised  that  I'd  be  his  wife. 
Then  along  came  a  man  whom  I  wed  for  his 
wealth. 

One  false  step  has  ruined  my  life. 
But  even  in  childhood  I  often  beheld 

The  eagle  with  all  of  his  might 
Must  act  like  the  sparrow,  the  swallow,  the 
wren, 

And  come  to  his  nest  at  night." 

"At  first  I  was  happy  and  lived  like  a  queen — 

My  wagon  was  hitched  to  a  star — 
Then  trouble  arose  and  my  husband  began 

My  peace  and  my  pleasure  to  mar. 
And  ten  bitter  years  have  rolled  over  my  head, 

No  wonder  my  hair  has  turned  gray, 
At  last  in  a  rage  he  attempted  my  life, 

I  saved  it  by  running  away. 

"I've  fared  hard  since  then,  though  Pve  been 

put  in  jail, 

I've  slept  in  the  streets  many  times. 
The  thief  and  the  vagrant  my  bedmates  have 

been, 

I've  witnessed  unmentionable  crimes. 
So  what  if  the  eagle  can  spread  out  his  wings, 

And  rise  to  some  far,  dizzy  height, 
When  he,  like  the  sparrow,  the  swallow,  the 

wren, 
Must  come  to  his  nest  at  night?" 

"Oh,  would  I  could  stop  Father  Time  in  his 

course, 
And  live  those  past  years,  spent  in  vain ! 


55 


Poems  by  Theodore  Henry  Shackelford 

Oh,  would  I,  a  maiden  all  care-free  might  stand 
Beside  my  first  sweetheart  again! 

I  vow  I  would  love  him  till  death  did  us  part, 
I  vow  I'd  be  faithful  and  true. 

O,  Roderick,  O,  Roderick,  wherever  you  are, 
I'd  die  for  forgiveness  from  youf" 

The  wronged  man  bent  o'er  her  and  said  "I 

forgive/' 

She  gave  him  a  look  of  surprise, 
Then  gasped  and  fell  forward  and  spoke  not 

again, 

And  death  closed  forever  her  eyes. 
So,  e'en  though  the  eagle  can  soar  when  it's 

day, 

And  rise  to  a  marvelous  height, 
Yet  he,   like  the  sparrow,  the  swallow,  the 

wren, 
Must  come  to  his  nest  at  night. 


NO  CHANCE  FOR  ME. 

One  day  while  riding  in  a  car 

Along  a  busy  street, 
An  ill  dressed  man  with  haggard  look 

Beside  me  took  a  seat. 
He  said  "I  beg  your  pardon,  friend, 

If  drunk  I  seem  to  be, 
But  all  the  world  has  turned  me  down. 

There  is  no  chance  for  me." 


Poems  by  Theodore  Henry  Shackelford 

And  then  upon  his  whole  past  life 

This  creature  strange  did  dwell. 
When  he  had  finished  I  began 

My  grievances  to  tell. 
I  said  "you're  white,  but  I  am  black, 

I  am  half  slave — you  free — 
So  you  are  wrong,  you  have  a  chance. 

There  is  no  chance  for  me." 

In  vain  I've  struggled  all  my  life, 

No  sympathizing  hand 
Has  patted  me  upon  the  back, 

Defending  any  stand 
Which  I  would  take  to  be  the  man 

Whom  I  would  love  to  be. 
You  have  the  world  at  your  command. 

"There  is  no  chance  for  me." 

My  color  is  against  me,  sir, 

No  matter  where  I  go — 
In  search  of  help,  or  seeking  work, 

Some  one  will  tell  me  "no." 
While  you  may  work  the  season  through, 

As  busy  as  a  bee,  , 

In  vain  I  often  hunt  a  job. 

There  is  no  chance  for  me. 

The  car  had  reached  the  country  then, 

We  smelled  the  balmy  air. 
We  saw  the  fields  of  waving  grain, 

All  ripe  and  standing  there. 
We  saw  the  fruit  go  to  decay 

On  vine  and  bush  and  tree, 
With  no  one  who  would  gather  it, 

And  yet  "no  chance  for  me." 


Poems  by  Theodore  Henry  Shackelford 

In  silence  then  we  sat  a  while, 

The  skies  were  clear  and  blue. 
The  birds  sang  sweetly  in  the  trees, 

The  children  they  sang  too. 
And  as  they  strolled  through  daisy  fields 

Young  lovers  laughed  with  glee. 
My  friend  and  I  had  but  one  thought — 

"No  chance  for  him  nor  me." 

And  as  the  trolley  rumbled  on 

New  objects  came  to  view. 
A  blind  man  then  got  on  the  car, 

And  our  attention  drew. 
He  said,  "I  hear  the  birds'  sweet  notes, 

But  would  that  I  could  see." 
My  new-made  friend  and  I  rode  on; 

"No  chance  for  him  nor  me." 

A  poor  old  lady  then  got  on, 

And  we  were  moved  to  tears, 
That  she  was  deaf  we  both  could  tell 

By  trumpets  in  her  ears. 
She  could  not  hear  the  birds'  sweet  notes, 

Yet  none  more  blithe  than  she. 
My  friend  and  I  both  looked  at  her. 

Both  said  "no  chance  for  me." 

At  last  a  man  both  deaf  and  dumb 

Did  we  espy  afar. 
We  knew  his  plight  by  signs  he  made 

Ere  he  got  on  the  car. 
He  did  not  murmur  nor  complain, 

And  happy  too,  seemed  he. 
My  friend  and  I  then  both  forgot 

To  cry  "no  chance  for  me." 


58 


Poems  by  Theodore  Henry  Shackelford 

An  object  lesson  we  had  seen, 

Amid  a  world  of  strife, 
Of  cheerfulness  by  these  folks  shown, 

Though  burdened  down  through  life. 
We  looked  at  them  and  knew  that  all 

Were  much  worse  off  than  we. 
And  vowed  to  never  say  again 

"There  is  no  chance  for  me." 


THE  CASTLE  OF  REMEMBRANCE. 

Ofttimes  when  I  am  sad  and  lonely 

And  disappointments  come  my  way, 
And  clouds  of  doubt  hang  low  and  threatening 

And  turn  to  night  my  brightest  day, 
Then  to  my  castle  of  remembrance 

Come  scenes  of  happy  days  gone  by, 
When  all  the  world  seemed  bright  and  sunny, 

And  covered  with  an  azure  sky. 

These  are  the  things  which  still  have  lingered. 

And  through  the  years  have  followed  me. 
Those  days  were  like  a  lake  of  silver, 

And  mirrored  in  their  depths  I  see 
The  scenes  which  soon  dispel  my  sorrows 

And  free  my  throbbing  heart  from  pain, 
For  in  the  castle  of  remembrance 

I  live  my  sweetest  days  again. 

Once  more  I  feel  the  joys  of  childhood 
As  in  the  babbling  brook  I  wade. 

Or  roam  with  Sue  in  search  of  flowers, 
Deep  in  the  woodland's  quiet  shade. 


Poems  by  Theodore  Henry  Shackelford 

I  see  the  cottage  near  the  orchard. 

I  see  wistarias  in  bloom, 
And  there  is  sister  at  the  window, 

While  mother  moves  about  the  room. 

r 

I  see  the  corn  crib,  and  the  stable, 

The  pigeons  too,  upon  the  wing, 
The  cattle  coming  from  the  pasture, 

The  milk  house  built  above  the  spring. 
Once  more  the  sun  sinks  in  his  splendor. 

The  hills  fade  into  shadows  deep. 
Then  mother  tucks  the  covers  round  me, 

And  I  am  lost  in  blissful  sleep. 


YOUTH'S  CHOICE. 

A  brave  youth  clad  in  stern  array 

Went  forth  and  met  his  love  one  day. 

Love  smiled  at  him  and  sweetly  said, 

"  'Tis  time  that  you  and  I  were  wed." 

"I  beg,"  said  Youth,   and  blushed  with  shame, 

"That  I  may  first  converse  with  Fame." 

They  parted  then  and  Love  grew  cold, 
While  Youth  grew  haggard,  worn  and  old. 
Fame  saw  him  struggling  on  beneath 
The  arch  of  toil,  and  placed  a  wreath 
Of  laurel  branches  on  his  head. 
He  then  sought  love,  but  love  was  dead! 


60 


An'  de  snow  was  thickly  fallin'. 


Poems     by     Theodore     Henry     Shackelford 


IF  YOU  DON'T  FAWGIT  TO  PRAY 

It  was  drawin'  nigh  to  Crismus, 
An'  de  young  uns  all  was  glad, 
An'  was  'joicin'  'bout  de  tu'key 
To  be  brought  home  by  daih  dad; 
'Cause  daih  mammy  had  done  tole  'em 
"Now  when  it  is  Crismus  day, 
You  is  gwine  to  hab  a  tu'key 
If  you  don't  fawgit  to  pray." 

But  de  crops  had  been  a  failure 
An*  de  stores  wouldn't  trust, 
An'  it  seemed  wid  out  dat  tu'key 
Go  dem  young  uns  sholy  must. 
But  dey  jis  kep'  on  a  prayin' 
An'  'couse  'Cindy  jined  in  too; 
An'  it  made  me  feel  so  bad,  suh, 
Dat  I  knowed  not  what  to  do. 

It  was  'gainst  my  'ligious  trainin' 
Faw  to  steal  a  single  t'ing; 
(If  de  fac'  dat  I  was  honest 
What  I  needed  mos'  would  bring;) 
Neitah  did  I  want  Lucindy 
Dem  po'  young  uns  to  deceive, 
How  on  ea'th,  dough,  could  I  help  it 
Since  it  now  was  Crismus  Eve? 

But  dey  only  prayed  de  harder, 
An'  it  seemed  to  urge  me  on ; 
An*  I  swore  I'd  git  dat  tu'key 
'Fore  dat  Crismus  Eve  was  gone. 


61 


Poems     by     Theodore     Henry     Shackelford 

Now  ole  Co'nel  Rufus  Calhoun, 
Dat  was  livin'  down  de  road, 
Jis  had  tu'keys  by  de  hundred 
An*  de  bigges'  kin5  dat  growed. 

So  I  got  down  on  my  knees  suh, 

An*  I  said  "Lawd  make  it  right, 

So  as  I  can  git  dat  tu'key 

Faw  dem  chillen  on  dis  night!" 

Aftah  dat  I  felt  much  bettah ; 

I  remembahd  right  away 

How  Lucindy  said  "You'll  git  him 

If  you  don't  fawgit  to  pray." 

An*  de  snow  was  thickly  fallin' 
As  I  stole  out  in  de  night; 
An'  my  footsteps  dey  was  padded 
By  a  blanket  sof  an'  white. 
An'  I  somehow  felt  I'd  git  him 
'Fo'e  de  risin'  ob  de  sun, 
An'  I  felt  so  good  about  it, 
Dat  I  jis  took  out  an*  run. 

When  I  wretched  ole  Co'nel's  bahn-yard, 

In  de  dimness  I  could  see 

Big,  dark  forms  I  knowed  was  tu'keys 

Roostin'  in  a  apple  tree. 

I  jis  clim'  right  up  beside  one, 

An*  I  made  a  grab  at  him; 

But  I  somehow  los'  my  balance, 

An*  I  tumbled  from  dat  limb. 

An*  I  must  a  'sturbed  dem  tu'keys, 
'Cause  dey  all  flew  up  in  fright; 
Screamin'  like  a  thousan'  debbils, 
On  de  stillness  ob  de  night. 


62 


Poems     by     Theodore     Henry     Shackelford 

Den  I  saw  a  great  big  mastiff 
Come  a  makin'  straight  faw  me 
An'  I  picked  myself  up  act'ly 
An*  again  I  clim'  dat  tree. 

Den  a  sudden  thought  come  to  me 
An*  I  called  out  loud,  you  know 
In  a  minute  den  ole  Co'nel 
Come  a  plowin'  thoo  de  snow; 
He  had  brought  his  big  old  muskit 
An*  ole  Sam  had  come  out  too; 
(Sam,  you  know  had  been  his  servant 
Since  way  back  in  'fifty-two.) 

Den  ole  Co'nel  took  dat  muskit 
P'inted  it  up  in  de  aiah, 
An'  said  "Sambo,  bring  him  hithah, 
Fin'  out  what  he's  doin'  daih." 
But  I  saved  ole  Sam  de  trouble 
I  jis  slid  on  down  de  tree, 
'Cause  de  Co'nel  kep  dat  muskit 
Allus  p'inted  right  at  me. 

I  said  "Boss  I  got  confusded 
When  de  snow  blowed  in  my  face; 
An'  I  spose  dat's  how  it  happened 
Dat  I  strayed  into  yo'  place. 
When  I  foun'  I  was  mistaken 
Yo'  big  dog  got  aftah  me 
An'  I  had  no  othah  choice,  suh, 
But  to  climb  dat  apple  tree." 

"All  right,  Mose,"  den  said  de  Co'nel, 
"I  suppose  dat  you  can  leave; 
I  won't  be  too  hahd  upon  you, 
Since  it  now  is  Crismus  Eve; 


63 


Poems     by     Theodore     Henry     Shackelford 

An'  I  s'pose  yo'  young  tins  need  him 
So  before  you  go  away, 
'Sambo  bring  him  dat  big  tu'key 
Dat  you  killed  an'  picked  today." 

Well  suh,  chillen,  I  jus,  had  to 
Shout  right  out  wid  joy,  you  know, 
I  got  on  my  knees,  an'  thanked  him, 
In  de  yahd,  in  all  dat  snow. 
Sambo  den  had  brought  de  tu'key, 
So  I  shouldahd  up  my  load, 
An*  my  heart  was  truly  thankful 
As  I  went  on  down  de  road. 

Cindy  an'  de  young  uns  met  me, 
As  I  walked  into  de  doo', 
An'  de  all  was  jis  dat  happy, 
Dat  dey  shouted,  too,  you  know. 
I  had  hu't  my  side  an'  shouldah, 
When  I  tumbled  out  dat  tree, 
But  de  shoutin'  ob  dem  young  uns 
Dat  was  medicine  faw  me. 

Nex'  day  at  de  dinnah  table 
When  I  come  to  axe  de  grace, 
I  said  "Lawd  bless  Co'nel  Calhoun, 
An'  all  dem  what's  on  his  place, 
We  is  thankful  faw  dis  tu'key 
Which  you's  sent  to  us  today, 
An'  we  b'lieves  you'll  allus  help  us, 
If  we  don't  fawgit  to  pray." 


Poems  by  Theodore  Henry  Shackelford 


THE  ORPHANS'  CHRISTMAS  TREE 

I  ain't  never  had  no  father  nor  no  mother, 

For  as  Topsy  said,  "I  growed  up  like  a  weed. 
I  ain't  never  had  no  sisters  nor  no  brothers, 

Nor  a  cat,  nor  dog,  nor  nothin'  that  I  need, 
Till  one  day  when  I  was  playin'  in  the  gutter 
Then  two  real  nice  ladies  came  along  and 

spoke  to  me. 
An'  they  said  'at  if  I'd  come  an'  go  'long  with 

'em 

'At  they'd  take  me  to  the  Orphans'  Christ 
mas  tree. 

An'  they  took  me  to    a    great    big    han'some 

building 
Where  they  was  jis  lots  of  little  girls  and 

boys, 
All  a  sittin'  round  some  great,  long  white- 

topped  tables, 
An'  you  couldn't  hardly  hear  your  ears  for 

all  the  noise. 
An'  the  plates  an'  knives  an'  forks  jis  kep'  on 

rattlin' 

An'  each  lady  seemed  as  busy  as  a  bee, 
An'  they  set  me  down  among  the  other  orphans 
On  the  night  they  give  the  Orphans'  Christ 
mas  tree. 

An'  we  jis  et,  an  et,  an  et,  an  kep'  a  eatin' 
Till  we  couldn't  hardly  get  up  from  our  seats 

'Cause  the  ladies  kep'  a  comin'  round  to  help 

us 
An'  a  pilin'  up  our  plates  with  dandy  eats. 


65 


Poems  by  Theodore  Henry  Shackelford 

An*  they  give  one    little    boy    two  great  big 

helpin's 
An'  I  guess  they  must  have  give  me  two  or 

three. 

Oh,  an'  say,  that  was  the  very  bestest  dinner 
On  the  night  they  give  the  Orphans'  Christ 
mas  tree. 

We  had  turkey,  mashed  potatoes,  corn  an'  yel 
low  turnips, 
And  cranberries,  too,  an'  pickles,  an'  green 

peas. 
An'  milk,  an*  celery,  bread  an'  shore  nough 

butter, 
An*  mince-meat  pie,  an*  fruit,  an'  soup,  an' 

cheese, 

An'  me  an'  t'other  little  boy  jis  kep'  on  eatin' 

An*  our  eyes  got  so  they  couldn't  hardly  see. 

When  they  pushed  some  funny  doors  up  from 

between  us, 

An'    the    great    big,    monstrous    Orphans' 
Christmas  tree. 

An*  oh!  it  was  the  mostest  pretty  tree  I  ever 

looked  at, 
It  had  'lectric  lights     an'    little     balls    an' 

things, 

An'  then  some  stuff  that  sparkled  jis  like  dia 
monds 
Was  hung  all  aroun'  the  tree  in  great,  long 

strings. 
An'  there  was  toys  for  all  us  little  children, 

An'  a  Santa  Claus  that  chuckled  in  his  glee 
As  he  started  out  to  give  away  the  presents 
On  the  night  they  give  the  Orphans'  Christ 
mas  tree. 

66 


Poems  by  Theodore  Henry  Shackelford 

Once  Willie  Jones's  father  took  some  ashes 

An'  put  'em  in  his  stockin's  in  the  night, 
An'  Willie  he  jis  cried  on  Christmas  mornin' 
When  he  went  to  get  'em  soon  as  it  was 

light. 
I'm  mighty  glad  that  I  ain't  got  no  father 

To  play  a  mean  ole  trick  like  that  on  me, 
An'  besides  I  wouldn't    got    this    horse    an* 

wagon 

On  the  night  they  give  the  Orphans'  Christ 
mas  tree. 


THE  OLD  PEAR  TREE. 

That  old  tree,  O,  how  I  love  it ; 

For  through  all  the  many  years 
It  has  been  my  close  companion, 

Both  through  sunshine  and  through  tears. 
Eighty  summers  have  I  witnessed, 

Eighty  winters,  too,  have  gone, 
Since  I,  as  a  babe,  first  rested 

'Neath  the  pear  tree  on  the  lawn. 

Then  what  pleasure  it  afforded, 

And  what  friends  for  me  it  made, 
As  I  romped  with  my  young  playmates 

'Neath  its  once  abundant  shade. 
Pictures  now  of  those  sweet  moments 

On  my  memory  are  drawn; 
When  I  first  met  little  Susan 

'Neath  the  pear  tree  on  the  lawn. 


67 


Poems  by  Theodore  Henry  Shackelford 

It  was  there  I  wooed  and  won  her 

In  the  evenings  long  gone  by ; 
As  .the  moon  shone  through  its  branches, 

From  a  cloudless  summer  sky. 
And  her  cheeks  were  like  the  roses, 

And  her  neck  was  like  the  swan, 
On  the  day  when  we  were  married 

'Neath  the  pear  tree  on  the  lawn. 

Then  how  quickly  sped  the  moments 

Which  were  spent  beneath  that  tree ; 
And  it  seems  that  it  was  planted 

Just  for  my  dear  love  and  me. 
And  the  birds  would  come  to  wake  us 

In  the  spring  at  early  dawn; 
Pouring  forth  their  songs  of  gladness 

From  the  pear  tree  on  the  lawn. 

But  alas!  my  joy  was  fleeting, 

For  my  young  bride  passed  above; 
And  I  then  was  forced  to  linger 

Here  without  her  gentle  love. 
Now  my  steps  are  growing  feeble, 

And  my  arms  have  lost  their  brawn; 
So  I  spend  my  time  in  musing 

'Neath  the  pear  tree  on  the  lawn. 

Sweeter  than  all  other  visions 

Are  these  dreams  which  come  to  me 
Of  my  love  while  I  am  sitting 

'Neath  that  dear  old  twisted  tree. 
Though  my  hair  has  turned  to  silver 

And  my  sight  is  nearly  gone, 
Still  I  see  her  'neath  the  pear  tree, 

That  old  pear  tree  on  the  lawn. 

68 


Poems  by  Theodore  Henry  Shackelford 


THE  OLD  SAILOR'S  STORY. 

"Yes,  I've  been  wrecked  a  dozen  times. 

Upon  as  many  seas, 
And  twice  the  fire  drove  me  out — 

I'll  tell  of  one  of  these— 
A  'ship  on  fire'  makes  a  sight 

That  can't  be  soon  forgot, 
But  any  time  it's  left  to  me 

I'll  choose  a  cooler  spot. 

'Twas  in  the  good  old  sailboat  days, 

Those  happy  days  of  yore, 
When  oft*  it  took  to  cross  the  deep 

Three  jolly  months  or  more. 
And  several  days  and  often  nights 

The  men  would  sweat  and  toil 
To  load  the  good  ship  Mary  Anne 

With  merchandise,  or  oil. 

The  'Mary'  was  a  gallant  ship, 

Built  long,  and  rakish  too. 
And  all  the  waves  she  couldn't  climb 

She'd  simply  plough  them  through. 
And  swift — I've  never  seen  the  ship 

Could  beat  her  in  a  race — 
The  Mary  Anne  had  rather  sink 

Than  hold  a  second  place. 


Poems  by  Theodore  Henry  Shackelford 

Her  skipper  was  a  brave  old  salt — 

'Cap.  Malcolm*  was  his  name — 
Compared  with  'Cap*  when  he  was  sore 

A  lion  sounded  tame. 
And  I  have  often  seen  him  laugh 

Or  fairly  shout  with  glee 
While  playing  with  his  life, 

Down  on  the  Carribean  Sea. 

Our  trade  was  most  all  'coast-wise1  then — 

The  'deep  sea*  trade  was  slim, 
And  it  was  such  a  trip  as  this 

At  last  that  finished  him. 
'Twas  in  the  Straits  of  Yucatan 

And  heading  up  the  coast, 
We  aimed  to  reach  our  journey's  end 

In  fifteen  days  at  most. 

A  good,  fresh  breeze  was  blowing  up 

And  every  sail  was  set, 
And  oh!  the  picture  that  she  made, 

I  plainly  see  her  yet. 
The  'Mary's*  nose  was  pointed  high, 

And  as  she  raced  for  home, 
The  canvas  popped  with  pleasant  sound, 

And,  wide  she  tossed  the  foam. 

We  had  a  precious  cargo  then — 

Ten  thousand  pounds  in  gold — 
And  some  two  thousand  barrels  of  rum 

Were  stored  down  in  her  hold. 
And  'Cap*  was  feeling  fine  that  night, 

He  walked  now  'fore/  now  'aft/ 
His  hands  deep  in  his  pockets  thrust 

As  to  himself  he  laughed. 


70 


Poems  by  Theodore  Henry  Shackelford 

The  middle  watch  had  just  turned  out 

So  I  was  free  to  go, 
But  first  I  thought  I'd  look  around 

Before  I  went  below. 
As  it  was  in  the  month  of  June 

We  had  a  perfect  night, 
The  stars  were  twinkling  far  above 

In  constellations  bright. 

I  stood  and  watched  them  quite  a  while 

Then  down  the  ladder  went, 
And  in  quick  time  was  fast  asleep, 

And  lost  in  sweet  content. 
But  I  had  not  slept  very  long 

Before  a  wild  bell's  ring 
Had  made  me  tumble  from  my  bunk 

And  up  the  ladder  spring. 

Not  while  I  live  shall  I  forget 

The  terrorizing  sight 
Which  greeted  me  when  I  got  up 

On  that  eventful  night. 
For  as  toward  the  fo'ard  end 

I  turned  my  startled  gaze, 
My  heart  I  think  refused  to  beat, 

The  whole  ship  seemed  ablaze! 

As  if  some  cruel,  fiendish  hand 

Had  made  a  foolish  turn, 
And  dropped  a  match  down  in  the  hold 

To  see  if  rum  would  burn. 
The  canvas  all  was  licked  away, 

Naught  stood  except  the  spars, 
And  they  were  bathed  in  floods  of  flame 

That  seemed  to  reach  the  stars! 


71 


Poems  by  Theodore  Henry  Shackelford 

The  men  were  rushing  round  the  deck, 

Confusion  reigned  supreme! 
Till  'Cap'  came  up  and  took  his  post 

Amid  the  fire's  gleam. 
He  gave  his  orders  as  he  would 

On  any  other  trip. 
'Come  on,  you  lubbers,  man  those  boats, 

We'll  have  to  leave  the  ship/ 

And  every  man  obeyed  him,  too — 

We  didn't  care  to  stay — 
But  ere  we  all  got  in  the  boats 

The  heat  drove  them  away. 
And  'Cap*  was  cut  off,  as  the  blaze 

Went  shooting  to  the  sky. 
He  yelled  'go  on/  then  waved  his  hand, 

And  tears  dimmed  every  eye. 

It  seemed  the  winds  then  stronger  blew, 

That  holocaust  to  fan, 
But  how  it  broke  our  hearts  to  leave 

'Cap'  and  the  'Mary  Anne/ 
The  hissing  flames  then  higher  climbed, 

And  hotter  grew,  until 
There  came  a  blinding  flash  of  light, 

A  boom!  then  all  was  still. 

For  seven  days  we  drifted  there, 

Till  well  nigh  craved  with  thirst, 
We  looked  at  any  time  to  see 

The  worst  come  to  the  worst. 
Just  then  a  steamboat  picked  us  up 

And  I  went  home  and  stayed 
A  year  or  two,  then  once  again 

Back  to  the  sea  I  strayed. 


72 


Poems  by  Theodore  Henry  Shackelford 

Just  how  it  was  I  cannot  tell, 

But  on  my  first  trip  out, 
We  took  a  cruise  which  crossed  the  spot 

That  I  have  told  about. 
I  sat  up  rather  late  that  night, 

But  nothing  strange  occurred 
Till  I  began  to  nod  with  sleep, 

And  then  a  bell  I  heard. 

And  as  the  other  lads  and  I 

Walked  over  to  the  rail, 
I  swear  the  Mary  Anne  hove  up 

Amid  a  fiery  trail! 
And  there  stood  'Cap/  still  at  his  post 

His  face  seemed  strange  and  white, 
And  weird  and  ghost-like  'Mary'  looked 

There  in  the  fire's  light! 

The  other  lads  saw  her  as  well, 

So  it  was  not  a  dream, 
She  raced  us  then,  and  beat  us,  too, 

Although  we  ran  by  steam. 
And  then,  a  fleeting  sort  of  smile 

Crept  over  'Cap's'  stern  face. 
For  as  of  old  it  gave  him  joy 

To  win  out  in  a  race. 

Although  we  shoveled  in  the  coal, 

Away  from  us  she  drew, 
Until  she  left  us  far  behind 

And  disappeared  from  view! 
That  was  the  last  time  that  I  sailed 

The  Straits  of  Yucatan, 
And  that's  the  last  I've  seen  or  heard 

Of  'Cap'  or  Mary  Anne." 

73 


Poems  by  Theodore  Henry  Shackelford 

DOING  THEIR  BIT. 

Gee!  we  orphans  sure  are  working  hard  this 

winter, 
But  somehow  or  other  we  don't  seem  to 

care, 
'Cause  you  see  we're  makin'  things  to  give  the 

Red  Cross 
To  help  the  wounded  soldiers  "over  there." 

Some  folks  seem  to  think  that  just  'cause  we 

are  orphans 
That  in  life's  big  doin's  we  don't  have  a 

share. 

I  just  wish  that  they  could  see  us  knittin'  muf 
flers 
To  help  the  wounded  soldiers  "over  there," 

That's  not  all  we  try  to  do  to  help  'em,  either, 
For  besides  the  little  things  that  they  can 

wear 
We  make  bandages  and  funny  things  called 

doughnuts 
To  help  the  wounded  soldiers  "over  there." 

'Cause  it  ain't  no  fun  when  you  are  shot  and 

crippled, 
An'  besides  we  wouldn't  think  that  it  was 

fair 

If  we  didn't  try  to  ease  their  pain  an*  mis'ry 
An'  help  the  wounded  soldiers  "over  there." 

An'  we've  got  the  nicest  teacher  in  creation, 
She  is  always  gentle,  kind  an'  on  the  square, 

'Specially  when  we're  makin'  things  to  give 

the  Red  Cross 
To  help  the  wounded  soldiers  "over  there." 

74 


Poems  by  Theodore  Henry  Shackelford 

But  we're  prayin'  that  the  time  will  soon  be 

comin' 
When  there'll  be  no  cannon's  roar  nor  bugle's 

blare, 
When  there'll  be  no  need  for  all  these  things 

we're  makin', 

When  there'll  be  no  wounded  soldiers  "over 
there."     

DE  BENT  PIN  HOOK. 

Mockin'  bird  am  in  de  cane  brake 

Jis  a  singin'  to  his  mate. 
Mammy's  at  de  staihs  a  callin' 

Tellin'  you  it's  gittin'  late. 
Sun  am  risin'  cleah  an'  yellah ; 

Ain't  no  clouds  naw  nothin'  roun'. 
Mornin's  fine  an'  bright  an'  peaceful. 

Dew's  a  sparklin'  on  de  groun*. 

Breezes  blowin'  cross  de  medders, 

Smellin  nice  an'  sweet  an'  cool, 
But  you  knows  dot  it's  a  gwine  to 

Be  a  scorchin'  day  in  school. 
So  you  goes  an'  eats  yo'  breakfas' 

Hides  yo'  slate  an'  spelling  book ; 
An'  prepaih  to  go  a  fishin' 

Wid  a  bent  pin  faw  a  hook. 

Out  de  back  way  you  goes  slippin' 

An'  you  cuts  across  de  lot; 
You  is  'fraid  yoiur  mammy  sees  you, 

So  you  stahts  off  on  a  trot. 
But  she  don't  come  out  to  call  you, 

So  you  know  you  ain't  been  seen, 
An'  at  las'  you  reach  de  pashter, 

Whaih  de  gras  an'  trees  is  green. 

75 


Poems  by  Theodore  Henry  Shackelford 

Den  you  fin*  a  log  dat's  rotten 

An'  you  digs  down  wid  yo'  ban' 
'Til  you  fin'  some  big,  fat  grub  worms, 

An'  you  puts  'em  in  a  can. 
Takes  a  string  out  ob  yo'  pocket 

Den  you  goes  down  to  de  brook 
An'  you  stahts  right  in  to  fishin* 

Wid  a  bent  pin  faw  a  hook. 

But  de  sun  beats  down  upon  you, 

An'  somehow  de  fish  won't  bite, 
Dough  you  see  about  a  dozen, 

Bait  mus'  not  be  'zactly  right. 
Den  you  falls  asleep  direc'ly 

An*  you  has  a  funny  dream, 
Dat  you's  ketchin'  all  de  bull-heads 

What  was  evah  in  dat  stream. 

But  you  wakes  up  mighty  sudden, 

An'  it's  lucky  dat  you  do, 
'Cause  your  mammy  has  been  huntin' 

All  aroun'  de  place  faw  you; 
An'  she  says  "so  dat's  de  reason 

Dat  you  hid  yo'  spellin'  book! 
An'  dat  pin  out  ob  my  ap'on 

Dat  was  faw  yo'  fishin'  hook!" 

An'  when  mammy  grabs  a  stick,  suh, 

Den  you  bettah  staht  to  pray, 
'Cause  you  know  she's  gwine  to  cut  you 

Evah  step  along  de  way. 
No,  dat  wan't  no  laughin'  mattah, 

'Cause  yo'  mammy  sho  could  run, 
An'  when  she  was  'hind  you,  sonny, 

It  was  evah  t'ing  but  fun. 

76 


Poems  by  Theodore  Henry  Shackelford 

You  stahts  down  de  road  a  kitin' 

An'  you  don't  staht  none  too  soon ; 
Faw  yo'  mammy  wid  dat  saplin' 

On  yo'  britches  plays  a  chune. 
An'  from  dat  time  an  faw  evah 

You  don't  show  by  word  naw  look 
Dat  you  want's  to  go  out  fishin' 

Wid  a  bent  pin  faw  a  hook. 


WHEN  THE  SUPPAH  AM  A  COOKIN'. 

Fse  been  settin'  hyeah  all  evenin' 

Wid  dis  young  un  on  my  knee, 
An'  his  childish  pranks  an'  questions 

Brings  my  young  days  back  to  me. 
An'  I  see  de  little  cabin 

Whaih  we  lived  in  Dixielan* 
'Hind  the  hills  de  sun  is  settin' 

An*  we  waller  in  de  san'. 

Den  I  see  my  daddy  comin' 

Worn  an'  tiahd  from  de  fiel' 
An'  I  heah  my  mammy  tell  him 

To  git  ready  faw  his  meal. 
Den  de  can'les  staht  to  gleamin* 

An'  de  banjo  stahts  to  ring, 
An'  while  suppah  is  a  cookin' 

I  can  hyeah  my  mammy  sing. 

Den  how  we  would  drap  ouah  play  t'ings, 

An'  go  stealin'  in  de  house ; 
An'  would  all  git  in  de  conah, 

Jis  as  quiet  as  a  mouse. 


77 


Poems  by  Theodore  Henry  Shackelford 

An*  we'd  set  up  daih  an*  listen, 

Wid  ouah  mouths  all  open  wide, 
Jis  as  if  daih  wa'n't  no  dangah 

Dat  a  fly  might  drap  inside. 

I  remembah  how  my  mammy 

Use*  to  sing  in  days  gone  by, 
Till  you  had  to  tuhn  yo'  head,  suh, 

So's  to  kindah  wipe  yo'  eye. 
Yo  fawgot  dat  you  was  hungry 

An'  you  didn't  want  a  t'ing 
Dough  de  suppah  was  a  cookin', 

If  you  hyeahd  my  mammy  sing. 

She  would  staht  off  slow  and  easy, 

Yo'  was  'fraid  yo'  wouldn't  heah, 
An*  you'd  ben'  way  out  an'  listen 

Wid  yo'  hand  behin'  yo'  yeah. 
Den  dat  song  would  swell  out  loudah, 

Thoo  de  cabin  it  would  ring, 
Till  it  soahed  way  up  an'  quivahed 

Like  a  lahk  upon  de  wing. 

Den  she'd  soht  o'  sway  an'  tuhn  it, 

Wid  a  mannah  jis  so  fine, 
Dat  de  little  chills  and  fevahs 

Would  run  up  an*  down  yo'  spine. 
An'  each  word,  an'  line,  an'  stanzer 

To  yo'  very  soul  would  cling! 
When  de  suppah  was  a  cookin' 

An'  you  hyeahd  my  mammy  sing. 

When  she  sung  "De  Suwanee  River" 

.It  jis  seemed  to  tech  yo'  heaht, 
An'  to  make  it  sof  an'  tendah 

When  she  got  to  dis  hyeah  paht : 


78 


Poems  by  Theodore  Henry  Shackelford 

"All  de  worl'  am  sad  an 

Dreary,  ev'ry  where  I  roam. 
Oh,  darkies,  how  my  heaht  grows  weary, 

Fah  from  de  ole  folks  at  home." 

Nex'  she  sung  'bout  "Phar'oh's  Army/' 

An'  it  made  you  mighty  glad 
Dat  dem  Isr'elites  was  rescued 

From  dat  king  so  strong  an'  bad. 
An'  it  seemed  de  bells  ob  heben 

In  daih  joy  begun  to  ring, 
When  dat  suppah  was  a  cookin' 

An'  you  hyeahd  my  mammy  sing. 

Den  'twas  "Weep  no  mo'e  my  lady," 

Dat  she  nex'  sung,  sweet  and  cleah,  - 

An'  it  made  you  feel  so  rev'rent 

When  huh  gentle  voice  you'd  hyeah. 
Mammy  nevah  used  no  song  books, 

'Cause  she  couldn't  read  a  note ; 
But  dat  music  rich  and  meller, 

Faihly  powed  out  from  huh  th'oat. 

I  has  seen  great  sights  an'  wonders, 

An'  Ise  traveled  fah  an'  neah, 
But  dem  days  spent  in  dat  kitchen 

Is  de  ones  I  hoi'  mos'  deah. 
You  can't  fin'  no  greater  pleasure 

In  de  palace  ob  a  king 
Dan  you  can  when  suppah's  cookin' 

An'  you  hyeah  my  mammy  sing. 


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Poems  by  Theodore  Henry  Shackelford 


THE  BREAK  OF  DAWN. 

Peace,  Peace,  O  France,  and  cease  thy  heart's 

wild  beating! 

Neither  be  fearful  of  the  serpent's  sting, 
Draws  near  the  ending  of  his  reign  of  terror, 
Life  up  thy  drooping  head  once  more  and 

sing! 
Fear  not,  because  of  those  who  would  enslave 

thee; 

Let  not  thy  slumber  be  filled  with  unrest, 
Fear  not  the  traitor  skulking  on  thy  borders, 
Nor  let  his  poison  penetrate  thy  breast. 

Patiently  wait,  the  time  is  fast  approaching 
When  thou  shalt  rise  with  healing  in  thy 

wings, 

Conies  now,  a  herald  on  his  foaming  charger, 
Words  of  encouragement,  to  thee  he  brings, 
For   he   proclaims    the    news    that    night   is 

ended ; 
Though   its   dark   shadows   long   o'er   thee 

were  cast, 
Although   the   winds  of  bitter  winter   smote 

thee 
That  too  is  ended,  spring  has  come  at  last. 

O'er  the  horizon  spreads  the  blush  of  morn 
ing, 

Hear  thou  the  bugles  and  the  beat  of  drums ! 
See,  in  the  sky  "Old  Glory"  proudly  flutters, 
While,    millions    strong,    a    mighty    army 
comes ! 


80 


Poems  by  Theodore  Henry  Shackelford 

Heed   not  false   threats,   nor   tyrants'   propa 
ganda. 

Thy  noble  spirit,  and  thy  dauntless  will, 
Out  of  the  smould'ring  ashes  of  past  failures 
Shall    snatch    fresh    courage,    thou    shalt 
triumph  still ! 


MY  PAL. 

I  say,  old  chap,  I'm  mighty  glad 

That  you're  a  pal  of  mine, 
To  have  a  good  old  chum  like  you 

Is  surely  mighty  fine. 
It  seems  that  you  appreciate 

The  things  I  try  to  do 
And  say!  it  helps  to  have  some  one 

Who  always  laughs  with  you. 

A  friend  to  whom  you  can  confide 

A  secret  now  and  then, 
And  know  that  he,  your  guarded  thought, 

Will  not  repeat  again. 
Who  even  tries  to  smooth  the  scrap 

Between  you  and  your  "gal," 
Here,  boy,  I'm  givin'  you  my  mitt 

I'm  glad  that  you're  my  pal ! 


Poems  by  Theodore  Henry  ShackeHord 

GOOD  NIGHT,  DEAR  HEART. 

Good  night,  dear  heart, 
And  through  the  lonely  hours, 

I  pray  that  thou  may  dwell 
Amid  the  sweetest  flowers. 

Good  night,  dear  heart, 

And  may  thy  moments  be 
In  peaceful  slumber  spent, 

And  filled  with  dreams  of  me. 

Good  night,  dear  heart, 

And  may  the  morning  light 
Find  thee  refreshed  and  gay, 

Thy  saddened  heart  made  bright. 

Good  night,  dear  heart, 

Since  thou  to  rest  must  go, 
No  other  thought  have  I 

Than  this,  "I  love  you  so." 


COMMENCEMENT. 

Commencement  is  a  day  of  dreams, 
Of  castles  grand,  of  murm'ring  streams, 
Of  cities  fair,  where  roses  grow, 
Of  summer  clouds,  where  breezes  blow, 
And  this,  the  wislrl  bring  to  you, 
May  all  your  noble  dreams  come  true? 


Rock-a-bye,  Rock-a-bye. 


Poems  by  Theodore  Henry  Shackelford 


MY  LOUISIANA  BABY 

Daddy's  comin'  home  tonight  to  see  his  sugar 
plum, 

Rock-a-bye,  rock-a-bye ; 

An*  dis  baby's  gwine  to  wait  to  see  de  steam 
boat  come, 

Rock-a-bye,  rock-a-bye; 
Daddy  said  he's  gwine  to  bring  some  sugar 

cane  to  you, 
Know  you'll  be  so  tickled  dat  you  won't  know 

what  to  do 

When  dat  steamer  reaches  home  an*  daddy's 
trip  is  through, 

Rock-a-bye,  rock-a-bye, 
My  Louisiana  Baby. 

Daddy  never  staid  away  from  home  so  long 

before, 

Rock-a-bye,  rock-a-bye ; 
But  we's  gwine  to  keep  him  here  perhaps  a 

week  or  more, 

Rock-a-bye,  rock-a-bye ; 
Granny  says  he's  her  bad  boy,  an'  she  can 

make  him  stay, 
Lock  him  in  de  dinin'  room  so  he  can't  get 

away, 


83 


Poems  by  Theodore  Henry  Shackelford 

Den,  o'  course,  when  he's  at  home  with  baby 
he  will  play, 

Rock-a-bye,  rock-a-bye, 
My  Louisiana  Baby. 

I  suppose  when  you  grow  up  you'll  leave  yo' 
mammy,  too, 

Rock-a-bye,  rock-a-bye ; 

Go  on  up  de  ribber  wid  yo'  daddy  den,  won't 
you? 

Rock-a-bye,  rock-a-bye ; 
Oh,  well,  mammy  she  won't  min'  when  you 

is  big  an*  strong, 
Just  as  long  as  you  don't  stay  away  from  home 

too  long, 

Mammy  she  would  love  to  hear  you  sing  de 
boatman's  song, 

Rock-a-bye,  rock-a-bye, 
My  Louisiana  Baby. 

There,  I  hear  the  boat  acomin'  up  the  ribber 
now, 

Rock-a-bye,  rock-a-bye ; 

An'  I  hear  the  crowds  acheerin'  standin*  in 
her  bow, 

Rock-a-bye,  rock-a-bye ; 
An'  there's  daddy,  don't  you  see  him  comin' 

up  de  street? 
Hello,  daddy!     What  is  that  you's  brought 

this  chile  to  eat? 

Sugar  cane  an'  lasses,  too,  oh,  Law,  won't  he 
get  sweet? 

Rock-a-bye,  rock-a-bye, 
My  Louisiana  Baby. 


84 


Poems  by  Theodore  Henry  Shackelford 


WHY  POP  SNOWDEN  FELL  FROM 
GRACE. 

It  was  put-nigh  fohty  yeahs  now 

Dat  "Pop  Snowden's"  life  had  been 
What  you'd  call  a  soht  ob  guide-post, 

'Vidin'  righteousness  from  sin. 
An'  his  wife  and  seben  chillen 

All  had  sheahed  his  common  lot, 
Till  his  wife  took  sick  one  ebenin' 

And  nex'  mornin'  "she  was  not." 

But  de  funeral  skaise  was  ovah 

'Foe  "Pop"  fell  along  the  way, 
An'  from  all  his  past  good  habits 

He  had  wandahed  fah  astray. 
Earthly  t'ings  his  min'  was  claimin' 

He  had  laid  his  'ligion  down, 
Least  de  gossips  had  it  dat  way 

What  had  spread  de  news  aroun'. 

Cou'se  Pop,  havin'  all  dese  young  'uns, 

Got  de  notion  in  his  head 
For  to  git  anothah  mothah 

For  dem  since  de  fust  was  dead. 
An'  it  come  dat  Mandy  Bledsoe 

Was  de  'oman  ob  his  choice, 
She  was  young,  and  smaht,  an*  puhty, 

Wid  a  captivatin'  voice. 


85 


Poems  by  Theodore  Henry  Shackelford 

But  dat  gal  did  love  to  dance  dough, 

An*  she  said  to  Pop  dat  day, 
When  he  axed  her  to  be  his'n, 

"Well,  I'se  kindah  feahed  to  say, 
Pop,  you'se  oldah  dan  my  fathah 

And  wid  dem  rheumatics  too, 
An*  de  keerin*  faw  yo'  young  funs, 

Laws-a-me,  what  would  I  do?" 

* 

So  to  git  in  huh  good  graces, 

Dough  he  didn't  believe  'twas  right, 
Pop  agreed  to  go  to  "Gilliams" 

To  a  big,  swell  dance  dat  night. 
Gilliams  had  a  boy  name  "Sambo," 

An*  he  sholy  wa'nt  no  Gawk, 
Ta'se  dat  boy  could  make  a  banjo 

Do  mos*  ebry-ting  but  talk. 

An*  a  piece  of  his  composin* 

He  had  promised  dat  he'd  use, 
'Jis  espec'lly  faw  dat  'casion, 

It  was  called  de  "Swamptown  Blues." 
An'  de  cabin  it  was  crowded 

Wi'd  bofe  saint  an'  sinnah  too 
As  Pop, — leading  Mandy  Bledsoe 

By  de  ahm, — come  bustin'  thoo. 

Den  Sam  Gilliam  'chuned  his  banjo, 

An'  he  let  de  music  go 
Till  it  ovah-flowed  de  cabin 

An*  was  runnin'  out  de  doo/ 
Yes,  dat  scandilizin'  music 

F'um  dat  inst'ument  did  roll 
Till  it  took  possession  ob  you 

Bofe  yo'  body  an*  yo'  soul. 

86 


Poems  by  Theodore  Henry  Shackelford 

An*  de  young  folks  stahted  dancin', 

Faw  you  couldn't  keep  your  seat, 
'Less  you  had  a  bag  of  brick-bats 

Faw  to  tie  aroun'  yo'  feet. 
Even  Pop,  he  squirmed  an'  wiggled, 

An*  his  lips  refused  to  pray, 
As  he  saw  brazen  youngstah 

Lead  his  lady  love  away. 

Den  "Ole  Pop"  took  off  his  glasses, 

An*  he  laid  'em  on  de  shelf, 
Den  he  yelled  "Look  out  you  sinnahs, 

Each  one  hustle  faw  his-self." 
Made  a  bee-line  faw  Miss  Mandy, 

An*  he  grabbed  huh  'round  de  wais'e, 
An'  he  almost  knocked  huh  ovah, 

He  was  jis  in  dat  much  has'e. 

"Go  on  Pop !"  de  young  'uns  shouted, 

An'  Pop  yielded  to  daih  cries, 
Took  Miss  Mandy  and  he  swung  huh 

'Till  de  teahs  stood  in  huh  eyes. 
Still  dey  wheeled,  an'  tuhned  an'  twisted. 

'Till  dey  tied  up  in  a  knot, 
An*  'twould  took  a  team  o'  mules,  suh, 

Faw  to  pull  'em  bofe  apaht. 

Man,  Pop  laid  aside  his  'ligion 

Like  you  would  a  heavy  load, 
When  yoah  back  is  gittin'  weary 

An'  yo'  feet  clings  to  de  road. 
An'  as  his  eyes  met  wid  Mandy's 

He  fawgot  de  chuch's  laws 
While  dat  banjo  weeped  an*  moaned,  suh, 

Like  'twas  pleadin*  ob  his  cause. 


87 


Poems  by  Theodore  Henry  Shackelford 

Sam  jis  put  mo'e  runs  and  twistes' 

In  dem  aggravatin'  "Blues" 
'Till  ole  Pop  had  danced  de  bottoms 

Clean  f'um  off  ob  bofe  his  shoes. 
Still  he  kep'  a  swingin'  Mandy 

An'  he  backed  huh  roun'  de  floo' 
'Till  she  wilted  in  his  ahms,  suh, 

An'  jis  couldn't  dance  no  mo'e. 

Den  Pop  went  an'  got  his  glasses, 

Triumph  gleamin'  from  his  eyes, 
An'  sweat  streamin'  down  his  fo'ehead, 

As  he  led  away  his  prize. 
"What  a  shame,"  de  gossips  whispered, 

"She  has  got  him  in  huh  clutch, 
Neithah  him,  now,  naw  his  chillun, 

Will  you  evah  see  in  chuch." 

But  de  gossips  was  mistaken 

Faw  when  Sunday  came,  it's  true, 
Daih  was  Pop,  his  bride  an'  young  'uns, 

Sittin'  in  de  mournah's  pew. 
'Stid  ob  strayin'  off  an'  sinnin', 

Aftah  he  was  growin'  ole, 
Pop  had  only  went  an'  added 

One  mo'e  new  sheep  to  de  fol*. 


ROASTED  SHOAT. 

No  son,  thankee,  I'se  had  plenty, 

Dis'll  do  what's  on  my  plate; 
I  ain't  had  no  love  for  shoat  meat 
Since  way  back  in  "fifty  eight." 


88 


Poems  by  Theodore  Henry  Shackelford 

An*  I'll  tell  you  how  it  happened — 

It  was  on  one  Chris'mas  Eve, 
I  was  kindah  young  an'  devilish 

An'  was  foolish  too  I  'lieve. 

Mas'  had  gone  to  spen'  de  Chris'mas, —  . 

Went  to  Richmon'  on  de  boat; 
So  a  bunch  ob  us  decided 

Faw  to  go  an'  steal  a  shoat. 
Him  dat  done  de  axul  stealin' 

Bravah  dan  de  res'  must'  be ; 
An'  as  usu'l  on  sich  'casions 

Co'se  de  honah  come  to  me. 

So  dat  night  as  dusk  was  settin' 

I  jis  buttoned  up  my  coat, 
Go  my  hick'ry  club  and  stahted 

To  de  pen  to  git  dis  shoat. 
Met  de  boys  down  at  de  paster, 

Tol*  'em  I  would  not  be  long 
An'  to  nab  de  nah  ready, 

Den  I  hummed  a  little  song. 

An'  I  saw  dat  shoat  all  roasted 

Like  dey  cooks  a  shoat  down  Souf, — 
Basted  like,  wid  salt  an'  peppah 

An'  a  apple  in  his  mouf ; — 
Skin,  you  know  was  thin  an*  tendah, 

Kinder  craunched  between  your  teef, — 
Wan't  no  meat  on  earth  could  beat  it 

Clean  from  possum  down  to  beef. 

An'  it  seems  dat  luck  was  wid  me, 

Faw  when  I  got  to  de  yahd 
Daih  stood  one  all  by  his  lonesome, 

An'  he  was  as  fat  as  lahd. 


89 


Poems  by  Theodore  Henry  Shackelford 

So  I  jis  snuck  up  behin'  him, 

An'  I  raised  my  club  up  so, 
An'  I  aimed  to  let  him  hab  it 

Right  between  de  years,  you  know. 

But  my  han'  was  kin*  ob  shaky 

An*  I  only  hit  his  snoot, 
An*  he  squealed  so  loud  his  mothah 

Right  out  from  huh  pen  did  scoot. 
She  was  snortin',  too,  wid  fury, 

An*  was  headed  straight  my  way; 
I  ain't  nevah  seed  a  hog  so  mad,  suh, 

So  I  moved  widout  delay. 

'Cause  dat  wan't  no  time  faw  foolin' 

Naw  to  hoi*  no  argiment, 
So  wid  all  my  speed  an'  pow&h 

Straight  towahds  de  fence  I  went. 
But  I  couldn't  see  so  good  dough, 

An'  fo'e  I  had  time  to  stop 
I  had  stubbed  my  toe  an'  tumbled 

Headlong  in  a  trough  ob  slop ! 

Filled  my  mouf  wid  tater  peelin's, 

Got  by  clothes  all  soaked  to  boot, 
I  looked  wussah  dan  de  hogs,  suh, 

What  in  dat  same  trough  would  root. 
But  I  soon  got  on  my  feet  dough, 

I  was  'termined  as  could  be, 
Not  to  let  dat  pleggone  hog,  suh, 

Stick  huh  turshes  into  me. 

Made  a  bee-line  faw  de  cabin 

An'  supprised  de  fambly  so, 
Dey  was  nigh  driv'  into  spasms 

As  I  busted  in  de  doo'. 


90 


Poems  by  Theodore  Henry  Shackelford 

Den  day  axed  so  many  questions 

Dat  I  lef  daih  in  disgrace, 
An*  it  must  ha*  been  two  weeks,  suh, 

'Fo'e  I  daihed  to  show  my  face. 

Why  I  missed  de  celebratin' 

Dat  whole  Chris'mas  season  thoo'! 
All  de  gals  was  laughin'  'bout  me, 

An*  de  boys?  Why  dey  laughed  too* 
So  you  needn't  try  to  make  me 

Eat  anothah  piece  ob  shoat, 
'Cause  de  mem'ry  ob  dat  'casion 

Makes  it  stick  right  in  my  th'oat. 


THE  COUNTRY  CIRCUS. 

It  was  at  the  country  circus, 
And  the  crowd  was  at  its  best, 

For  the  air  was  pleasant,  and  the  day  was 

bright ; 

And  the  crowd  was  eating  peanuts, 
And  the  band  was  playing  loud, 

And  each  one  was  spending  money  with 
delight. 

Now  they  gather  round  a  side  show 
Where  the  dazzling  banners  gleam, 

And  the  spieler  rattles  off  his  magic  speech ; 
Then  he  takes  some  big  red  tickets 
And  he  passes  them  around. 

Giving  one  to  every  person  in  his  reach. 


91 


Poems  by  Theodore  Henry  Shackelford 


"Now,"  says  he,  "it  costs  a  quarter, 
But  this  ticket  and  a  dime 

Will  admit  you  to  the  great  museum  there, 
Where  you'll  see  the  'wall  eyed  monkey/ 
Also  'Zip/  the  missing  link, 

And  'Czarina/  that  large  Russian  waltzing 
bear." 

"And  the  great  'Parisian  beauties/ 
Which,  without  a  bit  of  doubt, 

It  is  worth  a  half  a  dollar  once  to  see; 
Then  you'll  see  the  great  'What  is  it?' 
One  strange  animal  indeed, 

For  his  head  is  growing  where  his  tail  should 
be." 

"Now  step  up  and  get  your  tickets, 
Please  don't  block  the  passage  way, 
Tickets  here  for  you,  and  you,  and  you,  and 

you? 

Yes,  sir,  that's  the  right  change,  thank  you. 
Oh,  here  comes  another  one! 

Yes,  it's  something  strange,  and  something 
grand,  and  new." 

Though  each  person  did  look  sheepish, 
As  they  came  out  from  the  tent, 

Still  they  vowed  'twas  worth  the  price  alone 

to  see: 

"That  'er  wonderful  'what  is  it?" 
That  was  all  turned  round  about, 

For  his  head  was  really  where  his  tail  should 
be." 


Poems  by  Theodore  Henry  Shackelford 


Then  the  spieler  cried  "well  people, 
All  the  tickets  red,  are  gone, 

But  I  said  they  couldn't  last  before  you  came, 
So  you'll  have  to  pay  a  quarter 
Now  to  see  this  great  big  show, 

Still  I  know  you'll  find  it's  worth  it  just  the 


Then  the  crowd  grew  wild  for  tickets, 
And  they  swarmed  around  his  box, 

And  the  seller  passed  them  out  with  all  his 

might  ; 

Still  the  crowd  kept  yelling  "tickets !" 
"Tickets !  one  more  ticket,  please !" 
And  he  sweated  there  from  morn'  till  late 
at  night. 

Then  said  I,  "there  must  be  something 
That  is  drawing  them  in  there. 

Every  one  has  been  in  now  it  seems  but  me. 
Although  I  don't  care  about  it 
Just  the  same  I'd  like  to  know 

What  it  is  such  a  crowd  goes  in  to  see." 

Then  I  took  my  last,  lone  quarter; 
For  a  ticket  plunked  it  down, 
And  I  walked  around  the  tent  with  beating 

heart ; 

Till  I  found  the  great  "what  is  it?" 
That  I'd  heard  so  much  about. 

"Twas  a  donkey  hitched  up  backwards  to  a 
cart!" 


Poems  by  Theodore  Henry  Shackelford 


FIN'  YO'  PLACE 

Dis  ole  worl'  is  full  ob  misfits 

Dat  is  allus  goin'  roun' 
Findin'  fault,  aw  else  complainin' 

Dat  conditions  keeps  'em  down; 
An*   dey   says   dey's   been   good   footmen, 

But  dey's  run  a  losin'  race; 
While  de  fac'  about  de  mattah 

Is  dey's  nevah  foun'  daih  place. 

Dey  has  seen  some  othah  pusson 

Dat  was  waxin'  big  an'  fat, 
Cause  he  picked  his  nachal  callin', 

An'  dey  goes  an*  jumps  in  dat. 
An'  jis  as  might  be  expected, 

Cou'se,  dey  falls  down  flat  wid  it ; 
But  dey  stays  daih  losin'  money, 

Jis  because  dey's  'shamed  to  quit. 

Some  will  try  to  be  puffessahs, 

An'  dey  totes  aroun'  a  book, 
While  dey  b'longs  in  some  one's  kitchen 

As  a  scullion  to  de  cook. 
Den  you'll  see  anothah  strugglin' 

In  some  job  dat's  mean  an*  bad, 
What  would  make  de  greatest  teachah 

Dat  de  worl'  has  evah  had. 


94 


Poems  by  Theodore  Henry  Shackclford 

Den  daih's  some  what  links  dey's  singahs 

Dat  ain't  got  a  bit  mo'e  voice 
Dan  a  ordinary  chicken, 

An*  dey  ain't  got  much  mo'e  choice. 
Dey  could  peddle  fish  and  oysters, 

An'  perhaps  could  call  out  trains ; 
I  don't  know  about  dat,  eithah, 

'Cause  at  least  dat  takes  some  brains. 

Some,  whose  signs  says  dey  is  doctahs, 

Goes  to  call  upon  de  sick; 
But  dey's  less  apt  to  recovah 

Dan  dey  is  to  die  right  quick. 
An'  dey's  some  what  claims  dey's  lawyahs, 

But  dey  makes  a  big  disgrace 
Ob  demselves  an*  all  daih  clients 

When  dey  goes  to  plead  a  case. 

An*  we's  got  some  would-be  poets, 

But  daih  vusses  is  so  po' 
Dat  de  only  ting  dey's  fit  faw 

Is  to  th'ow  out  in  de  snow. 
Aldough  dey  can  write  a  jingle, 

Aw  some  little  childish  rhyme, 
When  it  comes  to  writin'  poems 

Dey  is  only  wastin'  time. 

Den  you'll  see  some  great  big  giant, 

Health  is  good  an'  muscles  strong, 
Sittin*  at  some  one's  pianner, 

Try'n*  to  sing  some  rag-time  song; 
He  belongs  out  on  some  steamboat, 

Wo'kin  way  down  in  de  hoi' 
Eithah  totin'  up  de  ashes, 

Aw  else  passin'  down  de  coal. 


95 


Poemsby  Theodore  Henry  Shackelford 

Den  you  see  dese  one-hoss  eldahs 

Dat  can  neither  preach  naw  sing; 
All  dey's  good  at  is  at  shoutin' 

Aw  to  cut  de  pigeon  wing. 
Stid  ob  standin'  in  de  pulpit, 

Try'n'  to  preach  de  word  ob  Chris', 
Dey  belongs  down  in  Ca'lina, 

Wo'kin'  in  de  fiel's  ob  rice. 

Now,  I  don't  believe  de  Mastah 

Has  a  wo'k  he'd  call  us  to, 
Lessen  he  would  fust  prepaih  us 

Dat  some  kin'  ob  work  to  do. 
An'  dey'll  be  less  discontentment, 

An'  not  half  so  much  disgrace, 
When  each  feller  make  an  effort 

Faw  to  fin'  an'  keep  his  place. 


SAY  A  WORD  FAW  FATHAH 

Faw  goodness'  sake,  won't  you  all  stop  dat 
racket  ? 

I  tink  it's  time  to  let  dat  subjec'  drop; 
I  tell  you,  when  you  wimmen  gits  to  talkin1 

It  seems  as  if  you's  nevah  gwine  to  stop. 
Besides,  it  ain't  a  t'ing  but  fogyism, 

Who  said  "man  only  wo'ked  from  sun  to 

sun"? 
Why,  you  all  keeps  so  busy  wid  yo'  gabbin' 

Is  why  dat  you  all's  wo'k  is  nevah  done. 


Poems  by  Theodore  Henry  Shackelford 

An*  den  you  jis  said  ev'ry  man  was  wicked, 

Wid  all  de  young  uns  listenin'  daih  to  you, 
An'  dey  has  got  sich  confidence  in  "mammy" 

Dat  dey  bleeves  ev'ry  word  she  says  is  true 
O'  co'se,  some  times  you'll  run  across  a  fellah 

Dat  will  do  lots  o'  wicked  little  t'ings; 
But  in  my  life  Fse  seen  a  heap  o'  wimmen 

Dat  wa'n't  a  flyin  roun'  on  angel's  wings. 

'Co'se,  I  ain't  got  no  fault  to  fin'  wid  wimmen — 

I    deahly    loves    to    praise    'em,    goodness 

knows ; 
But  when  dey  keeps  a  pickin'  on  de  men  folks, 

Why,  den  dey's  kindah  trampin*  on  my  toes. 
An'  den  dem  songs  dey  sing  about  de  mothahs ! 

'Twould  seem  to  me  dese  poets  ought  to 

know 
A  little  praise  is  sholy  due  de  fathahs, 

De  way  dey  go  thoo  heat,  an*  rain,  an'  snow. 

So  nex'  time  all  you  wimmen  gits  togethah 
Don't  say  de  t'ings  you  don't  know  nothin1 

'bout, 

But  try  an'  membah  fathah,  who  is  workin* 
So  him  dat  owns  de  house  won't  tuhn  you 

out; 

An'  greet  him  wid  a  smile  instid  o'  frownin' 
When  faw  de  night  he's   comin'  home  to 

stay, 

An'  res'  ashowed  de  choice  o'  words  you  uses 
Will  eithah  help  to  straight  or  crook  de  way. 

A  hoss  will  sholy  do  some  mighty  pullin' 
If  you  will  gib  him  sugah  now  an'  den; 

Well,  if  a  little  sweetnin's  good  faw  hosses, 
It  stan's  to  reason  dat  'twould  be  faw  men. 


97 


Poems  by  Theodore  Henry  Shackelford 

'Co'se,  I  don't  mean  to  praise  de  lazy  fellah, 
What  nevah  had  a  min'  faw  doin'  right, 

But  him  dat's  strainin's  ev'ry  nerve  an*  sinew 
An'  jis  a  toilin'  on  wid  all  his  might. 

So  smile  an*  kindah  pat  him  on  de  shouldah 

When  he  is  weary  an*  his  back  is  bent, 
An*  let  him  know  you  'predates  his  effo'ts 

To  buy  de  coal  an1  food,  an'  pay  de  rent. 
An'  den  you'll  fin'  de  men  folks  gittin'  bettah. 

An'  home  will  be  a  heap  mo'e  cheerful  when 
He  knows  he's  got  a  lovin'  wife  to  greet  him 

So  say  a  word  faw  fathah  now  an'  den. 


CHRIST  AND  THE  WOMAN 

'Twas  an  angry  howling  rabble 

Which  had  blocked  the  narrow  street 
When  they  saw  the  Savior  coming, 

And  some  surged  around  his  feet, 
While  a  guilty,  frightened  woman 

Was  by  others  pushed  along, 
Until  they  had  forced  a  passage 

Through  the  ever-growing  throng. 

"Oh,  Good  Master,  let  us  stone  her !" 

Her  tormentors  loudly  cried; 
But  the  Savior,  looking  downward, 

With  the  dust  seemed  occupied. 
Then  he  saw  the  crying  woman — 

In  her  weakness  all  alone — 
And  demanded  that  the  guiltless 

Be  the  first  to  cast  a  stone. 


Poems  by  Theodore  Henry  Shackelford 

There  was  silence  then  among  them, 

By  that  crowd  no  stones  were  cast; 
Each  accuser's  guilty  conscience 

Made  its  owner  stand  aghast. 
Thus  the  Savior  had  rebuked  them, 

Who  had  cried  for  blood  before; 
Turning  then,  He  told  the  woman: 

"Go  in  peace,  and  sin  no  more." 

WHEN  THE  GAME  IS  OVER,  JIM 
Once  there  was  a  baseball  player 

On  the  pinnacle  of  fame ; 
But  he  gave  up  his  profession 

To  defend  his  country's  name. 
And  he  left  a  charming  sweetheart, 

For  he  had  not  time  to  wed; 
So  he  told  her  to  be  faithful, 

And  to  him  she  softly  said: 

Chorus: 
Well,  Jim,  when  the  game  is  over 

And  the  team  we  love  has  scored, 
When  has  ceased  the  cannon's  roaring 

And  real  peace  has  been  restored, 
Do  not  grieve  about  your  sweetheart, 

Or  wonder  if  I  am  true, 
For  I  swear  by  dear  "Old  Glory" 

I  will  wait  right  here  for  you. 

Long  in  strange  and  hostile  countries 

Were  the  brave  lads  forced  to  roam, 
But  at  last  they  won  the  vict'ry, 

And  they  brought  the  bacon  home ; 
And  a  crowd  was  there  to  meet  them, 

And  they  gave  cheer  after  cheer, 
Then  beside  him  stepped  Jim's  sweetheart, 

And  she  whispered  in  his  ear: 

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Poems  by  Theodore  Henry  Shackelford 
THE  FIFTEENTH  REGIMENT 

Make  has'e,  boy,  you  triflin'  scoun'el, 

Put  dem  strings  an*  tops  away; 
What  you  spec'  I  want  to  stan'  hyeah 

Watchin'  you  faw  all  de  day? 
Now  I  bet  I'll  wahm  yo'  jacket 

If  you  make  me  miss  dis  treat, 
Seein'  dat  ah  Fifteenth  Reg'ment 

Conies  a  marchin'  down  de  street. 

Shouldahs  back,  an*  faces  forwahd, 

Steppin'  wid  de  music,  too; 
As  you  watch  dem  cullahd  soljahs 

It  jis  thrills  you  thoo  an'  thoo. 
Gals  come  dressed  up  in  daih  finest, 

Lookin'  fit  enough  to  eat, 
When  dat  fightin'  Fifteenth  Reg'ment 

Conies  a  marchin'  down  de  street. 

Hush,  chile,  listen!     Ain't  dey  comin? 

Yes,  dat  is  dem  comin'  now! 
I  can  hyeah  de  crowds  hurrahin', 

I  can  see  de  soljahs  bow. 
Son,  don't  think  yo'  granny's  crazy, 

But  dat  music  'fects  my  feet, 
When  dat  fightin'  Fifteenth  Reg'ment 

Comes  a  marchin'  down  de  street. 

Lawzee,  honey,  hyeah  dat  music! 

Ain't  dem  chillen  playin'  some? 
Den  jis  look  daih  in  de  middle, 

See  dat  one  daih  wid  de  drum : 


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Poems  by  Theodore  Henry  Shackelford 

His  whole  body's  in  dat  playin', 
From  his  head  down  to  his  feet, 

When  dat  fightin'  Fifteenth  Reg'ment 
Comes  a  marchin'  down  de  street. 

I  declaih,  if  I  wa'n't  cripple 

I  would  ma'ch  clean  thoo  dis  town, 
If  I  wa'n't  afraid  dese  subways 

An*  dese  "L's"  would  run  me  down. 
I  could  foller  dem  faw-evah — 

Dat  ah  playin'  is  so  sweet, 
When  dat  fightin'  Fifteenth  Reg'ment 

Comes  a  marchin'  down  de  street. 

Broadway  loves  huh  cullahd  soljahs, 

Least-a-wise,  it  looks  dat  way, 
Seein'  how  dat  she's  acheerin' 

An*  atreatin'  dem  today. 
Rich   folks   sendin'  invitations, 

Axin'  dem  to  come  an'  eat, 
When  dat  fightin'  Fifteenth  Reg'ment 

Comes  a  marchin'  down  de  street. 

Well,  I'se  mighty  glad  I'se  able 

Faw  to  do  "my    bit"  today, 
Dough  it  mos'  nigh  broke  my  heaht,  suh, 

When  dem  youngstahs  ma'ched  away. 
Glory  Hallelujah,  Honey! 

Daih  is  William,  John  an'  Pete, 
Right  out  wid  dat  Fifteenth  Reg'ment 

Jist  a  marchin'  down  de  street. 

Ain't  dey  happy,  too,  jis  see  'em; 

Boys,  yo'  mothah's  watchin'  you! 
An'  I  know  de  Lawd  in  Glory 

Has  his  eyes  upon  you,  too. 

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Poems  by  Theodore  Henry  Shackelford 

An'  dat  repperbate,  "de  Kaisah," 

Mout  as  well  expect  defeat, 
When  you  reaches  "ovah  yondah" 

An'  goes  marchin'  down  de  street. 


THE  CALL  OF  THE  WOODLAND 

The  August  day  draws  to  its  sweltering  close, 

I  seek  for  rest,  alas !  but  find  it  not ; 
Rings  in  my  ears  a  once-instinctive  call, 

Which  makes  me  long  to  leave  this  dusty 

spot, 
And  roam  the  virgin  forests  once  again, 

Far  from  the  disappointing  scenes  of  life, 
Far  from  the  city's  smoke  and  toil  and  din, 

Far  from  its  ceaseless  care  and  endless  strife. 

Where  woodland  giants,  long  uprooted,  lie, 
With  moss  and  earth  still  clinging  to  their 

roots, 
Where  in  this  magic  garden  mounting  high 

A  fern  or  shrub  from  every  hollow  shoots ; 
Where  feathered  songsters,  free  from  care, 

abound, 

And  flowers  rare  and  beautiful  are  seen, 
Where   at   each   turn   some   fresh   surprise   is 

found, 
While  over  all  is  spread  a  verdant  green. 

Down  paths  in  which  some  ancient  antlered 
king 

Had  roamed  before  his  herd  in  days  of  yore, 
While  at  his  call  the  rocks  and  trees  did  ring, 

As  proudly,  boldly,  he  led  on  before; 


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Poems  by  Theodore  Henry  Shackelford 

Where  red  men,  too,  have  halted  in  their  grief 
To  pile  them  up  a  little  mossy  mound, 

To   mark   the   spot  where   some   old   warrior 

chief 
Doth  rest  within  his  happy  hunting  ground. 

Where  in  some  cave  shaped  out  by  nature's 
hands 

I'll  hear  the  noisy  brook  go  babbling  by, 
Or,  plunging  deep  into  the  forest's  shade, 

Will  catch  but  glimpses  of  the  azure  sky ; 
Then    on    a    bed    prepared    from    pine     tree's 
boughs 

I  long  at  length  my  weary  form  to  lay, 
Where  I  can  hear  the  whippoor-will  at  eve* 

And  view  the  closing  of  a  perfect  day. 


MY  AMBITION 

I  dare  not  hope  to  conquer  fame, 

Npr  ever  see  the  time 
When  in  this  body  I  shall  dwell 

Upon  the  heights  sublime. 
But  I  would  love   to  make  men  glad, 

And  be  content  the  while 

To  cast  mine  with  the  common  lot, 
Could  I  but  make  them  smile. 

Then  would  I  love  to  steal  away, 
To  greet  the  coming  dawn, 

And  leave  the  whole  world  smiling  still 
Long  after  I  had  gone. 


103 


Poems  by  Theodore  Henry  Shackelford 

THE  QUESTION. 

The  day  had  disappointment  brought, 

And  I  was  sore  distressed ; 
A  sob  of  pain  burst  from  my  lips, 

As  I  lay  down  to  rest. 
But  Morpheus  came  softly  down, 

And  lulled  me  off  to  sleep; 
And  then  I  dreamed  that  thou  didst  come 

And  bid  me  not  to  weep. 

And  thou  wast  robed  in  spotless  white, 

A  smile  was  on  thy  face ; 
And  then  a  kiss  upon  my  brow 

I  dreamed  that  thou  didst  place. 
Led  by  thy  love  I  then  arose, 

Nor  minded  man's  dark  frown; 
But  climbed  the  dizzy,  rugged  heights, 

And  from  them  snatched  the  crown! 

Oh,  could  that  wondrous  dream  come  true, 

To  thee  would  I  hold  fast ; 
And  love  thee  dear  with  all  my  heart, 

As  long  as  life  should  last. 
But  thou  art  many  miles  away, 

And  in  another  land; 
And  vales,  and  mountains,  I  must  cross 

If  I  would  seek  thy  hand. 

But  "faint  heart  lady  fair  ne'er  won," 

Nor  victor's  steed  did  ride ; 
And  so  I  ask  thee,  love  of  mine, 

If  thou  wilt  be  my  bride? 
What  e'er  to  thee  will  joy  impart 

That  shall  I  gladly  do. 
Now  speak  my  love  and  answer  me — 

Pray  will  my  dreams  come  true? 

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An  you  know  I  seen  dem  punkins. 


Poems     by     Theodore     Henry     Shackclford 

THANKSGIVIN'  DAY 

Well,  ole  'oman,  Ise  been  thinkin' 

Nea'ly  all  dis  whole  week  froo 
Dat  it's  gittin'  mighty  lonesome, 

No  one  hyeah  but  me  an'  you. 
Since  de  young  ones  all  got  ma'ied, 

An'  ouah  heads  is  tuhnin'  gray 
T'ings  won't  seem  jus'  like  dey  use  to 

When  it  comes  Thanksgivin'  Day. 

Ain't  no  use  to  kill  a  tu'key, 

When  it's  only  f aw  us  two ; 
We's  got  lots  ob  ham  an'  bacon, 

Mout  as  well  to  let  dat  do — 
Faw  'twill  bring  sad  recollections 

Ob  dem  times  dat  once  was  gay, 
If  you  cook  a  ole-time  dinnah 

On  dis  nex'  Thanksgivin'  Day. 

Hyeah's  bofe  Anne  an'  William  Henry 

Done  an'  writ  dat  dey  can't  come ; 
Social  'gagements  keeps  'em  busy, 

Well  I  guess  dat's  goin'  some ! 
Now  when  I  was  young  an'  heahty, 

Like  ouah  young  ones  is  today, 
Wa'n't  a  thing  'cept  death  its-self,  suh, 

Made  me  miss  Thanksgivin'  Day. 

'Cause  I  knowed  dem  juicy  'simmons, 

Was  a-rip'nin'  on  de  tree, 
An'  I  also  knowed  my  mammy 

Was  a-waitin'  daih  fo'  me. 
Hence  dey  wa'n't  no  social  'gagement 

Big  enough  to  make  me  stay 
From  my  mammy  an'  dat  table 

Week  befo'  Thanksgivin'  Day. 

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Poems     by     Theodore     Henry     Shackelford 

An*  you  know  I  seen  dem  punkins 

'Fo  de  fros'  had  nipped  de  vines, 
An'  dey  den  was  big  an'  heavy 

An'  was  meller  to  de  rines. 
I  seen  daddy  when  he  pulled  'em 

Also  hid  'em  in  de  hay, 
Put  'em  daih  jis  so  my  mammy 

Could  make  pies  Thanksgivin'  Day. 

An'  I  seen  dat  tu'key  gobbler 

Roostin'  'way  up  in  de  trees, 
Jis  so  big  an'  fat  an'  sassy, 

He  don't  min'  de  chillin'  breeze. 
An'  Ps  fed  him  lots  o'  co'n  an'  stuff, 

So  roun'  de  yahd  he'll  play, 
'Cause  I  know  we  sho'  will  need  him 

When  it  comes  Thanksgivin'  Day. 

Dough  de  season  has  been  rainy, 

An'  we's  had  a  lot  o'  fog, 
It  has  ripened  dem  cranberries, 

Dat  am  growin'  in  de  bog. 
So  I  goes  an'  picks  a  bushel, 

An'  I  sets  'em  all  away, 
To  accompany  dat  ah  tu'key 

On  his  trip  Thanksgivin'  Day. 

Well,  at  las'  de  day  approaches, 

An*  upon  de  night  befo' 
We  takes  lots  o'  fruit  an'  punkins 

To  de  church  to  help  de  po'. 
An'  we  also  brings  dat  tu'key 

From  dat  apple  tree  to  stay, 
An'  my  mammy  cleans  an'  stuffs  him, 

Gits  him  ready  fo'  nex'  day. 


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Poems     by     Theodore     Henry     Shackelford 

Den  upon  nex'  mo'nin,  ea'ly, 

Mammy  gits  us  all  awake, 
Aftah  breakfus'  she  stahts  dinnah, 

An'  she  sholy  takes  de  cake ; 
Faw  she  has  dat  dinnah  cookin' 

'Fo'  she  sends  us  all  to  pray 
In  de  chu'ch  an'  hyeah  de  sermon 

'Bout  de  fust  Thanksgivin'  Day. 

Well,  as  soon  as  it  was  ovah 

Straight  back  home  we  all  would  go ; 
We  could  smell  dem  victuals  cookin' 

Soon  as  we  had  hit  de  do' ; 
An'  we  all  would  set  de  table 

Wif'out  any  mo'  delay, 
An'  we  sho'  was  glad  dem  Pilgrims 

T'ought  about  Thanksgivin'  Day. 

Den  my  mammy  brought  de  tu'key, 

Wid  de  gravy  oozin'  out, 
An'  de  well-browned  sweet  potatoes 

Was  a-rollin'  all  about. 
Daih  was  also  soup  an'  celery 

Punkin  pie  an'  co'n  souffle, 
Lima  beans  dat  swum  in  buttah, 

Ham  an'  cabbage,  too,  dat  day. 

Den  I  felt  a  soht  o'  ticklin' 

Twixt  my  sho't  ribs  an'  my  spine. 
(Which  am  nature's  way  ob  sayin' 

Dat  yo'  appetite  am  fine;) 
An'  it  seemed  dat  sin,  an'  sorrer, 

From  dis  ea'th  had  gone  to  stay, 
When  at  las'  de  grace  was  ended 

An'  it  was  Thanksgivin'  Day. 


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Poems  by  Theodore  Henry  Shackelford 


RAINY  WEATHAH 

What's  dat,   Cindy,  ten  to  leben? 

Laws,  an*  how  dis  rain  do  po'; 
Guess  by  noon,  if  it  keeps  comin', 

Why  you  can't  git  out  de  doo' — 
Ditch  is  put  nigh  full  ob  watah — 

Rpad  is  full  of  slush  an  slop — 
House  is  damp,  an*  walls  is  sticky ; 

My!  I  wish  dis  rain  ud  stop! 

Chillen  standin'  roun'  acryin', 

Beggin'  me  faw  food  to  eat, 
But  I'll  sho  git  rheumatism 

If  I  goes  an'  wets  my  feet. 
Spec'  I  mout  as  well  git  up,  dough, 

But  I  know  dat  butchah  shop 
Nevah  will  see  me  come  in  it, 

Lessen  dis  hyeah  rain'll  stop. 

What's  dat  now,  "de  wood  box  empty"  ? 

Go  way,  chile,  an'  hush  yo'  mouf, 
I  ain't  nevah  seen  sich  trouble 

Since  I'se  been  hyeah  in  de  Souf. 
Chuesday  gone  I  had  dat  wood  heap 

Stacked  nigh  up  to  dat  ah  prop ; 
Now  dat's  gone,  an'  it  jis  Friday? 

I  sho  wish  dis  rain  ud  stop! 


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Poems  by  Theodore  Henry  Shackelford 

Oh,  is  dat  de  butchah's  wagon, 

Down  de  turnin'  ob  de  road? 
What's  dem  hosses  doin',  steamin'? 

Dey  ain't  got  no  heavy  load! 
Ain't  dat  wagon  fixed  up  swell,  dough, 

Glass  in  front  an'  ilecloth  top? 
Hey  daih,  mistah!     Didn't  hyeah  me! 

How  I  wish  dis  rain  ud  stop ! 

What's  dat,  watah  now  faw  cookin'? 

You's  a  thoughtless  one  faw  true; 
I  should  t'ink  dat  dat  rain-watah 

In  de  ba'el  outside  ud  do! 
Time  I  goes  clean  down  to  Jackson's 

I'll  be  soaked  jis  like  a  mop; 
Wantin'  watah  an*  it  rainin'; 

Now  you  know  I  wish  'twould  stop! 

Lawsee,  woman,  now  what  is  it? 

"Biddies  flooded  out  de  coop"? 
Spec'  I'll  hab  to  go  an'  put  'em 

In  dat  box  upon  de  stoop. 
Wish  dat  dey  was  little  biggah, 

All  daih  necks  I'd  let  you  chop, 
An'  jis  cook  'em  up  faw  breakfas', 

If  dis  rain  ud  only  stop. 

Ain't  no  comfort  in  dis  hyeah  house, 

'Cept  you  waihs  a  "watah-proof " ; 
Seems  to  me  dat  all  de  shingles 

Mus*  be  worshin'  off  de  roof. 
Bet  ole  Co'nel  Thompson's  hot,  dough, 

'Bout  his  great  big  cotton  crop, 
'Cause  it  sholy  will  be  ruint 

If  dis  rain  don't  soon  to  stop. 


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Poems  by  Theodore  Henry  Shackelford 

Come  hyeah,  Cindy,  move  dis  bed  hyeah ; 

Don't  you  see  it's  gittin'  wet ! 
To!'  you  'bout  it  'way  dis  mo'nin', 

An'  hyeah  you  ain't  did  it  yet ! 
Evah  time  dat  I  tuhns  ovah 

I  can  feel  de  watah  drop; 
Now  go  'way,  an'  lemme  sleep  some ; 

Laws,  I  wish  dis  rain  ud  stop ! 


THE  KEEPER  OF  THE  LIGHT 

In  a  lighthouse,  tall  and  lonely, 

On  Superior's  storm-swept  edge, 
Lived  a  man,  his  wife  and  daughter, 

There  upon  a  rocky  ledge. 
And  he  kept  the  light  a  burning, 

Winter,  Summer,  Spring  and  Fall; 
Never  vessel  sought  assistance 

But  he  answered  to  the  call. 

And  the  lives  of  many  seamen, 

Wrecked  upon  that  rock-bound  coast, 
Oft'  were  saved,  because  the  keeper 

Ever  stood  beside  his  post. 
Thus  one  cold  November  morning, 

Ere  the  day  had  scarce  begun, 
Great,  dark  clouds,  like  spectres  moving, 

Hid  from  view  the  rising  run. 

And  the  wind,  increasing  ever, 
Churned  the  waters  into  foam, 

And  it  piled  them,  boiling,  seething, 
At  the  base  of  that  lone  home. 


no 


Poems  by  Theodore  Henry  Shackelford 

Then  the  keeper  told  of  tempests 
Which  had  been  in  days  of  old, 

'And  his  wife  and  daughter  listened, 
'Though  their  very  blood  ran  cold. 

Hark!  a  sound  out  on  the  ocean 

Rises  high  above  the  gale, 
Now  it  louder  grows  and  clearer! 

Now  dies  off  to  but  a  wail. 
Wide  the  door  the  keeper  opens, 

And  the  spray  around  him  flies, 
But  he  stands  transfixed  with  horror 

At  the  sight  before  his  eyes! 

There  he  sees  a  storm-tossed  vessel, 

Driven  from  her  course  astray, 
All  her  sails  are  torn  to  pieces, 

All  her  boats  are  washed  away! 
Angry  seas  are  dashing  o'er  her, 

And  'tis  plain  she  cannot  last; 
Neither  can  the  keeper's  life-boat 

Ever  weather  such  a  blast! 

But  the  siren  still  is  blowing, 

Blowing,  pleading,  calling  "come!" 
To  the  rigging  forms  are  clinging, 

From  exposure  almost  numb. 
Though  he  feels  the  task  is  hopeless, 

And  his  heart  fills  with  despair, 
Still,  he  knows  that  he  as  keeper 

Must  not  let  them  perish  there. 

He  obeys  the  call  of  duty, 

And  he  starts  upon  his  way; 
But  the  wild  waves  pitch  and  toss  him, 

And  they  drench  him  through  with  spray ! 


ill 


Poems  by  Theodore  Henry  Shackelford 


Wife  and  daughter,  standing  helpless, 
Hardly  dare  to  draw  a  breath 

As  they  watch  the  noble  keeper 
In  his  battle  there  with  death! 

He  is  drawing  near  the  vessel, 

When  a  cruel,  hungry  wave 
Like  a  demon  leaps  upon  him, 

And  himself  he  cannot  save! 
All  the  days  since  early  childhood 

Come  to  him  now,  fast  and  clear, 
And  he  sees  sights  long  forgotten 

As  the  end  is  drawing  near. 

He  remembers  how  his  mother, 

As  her  eyes  were  growing  dim, 
Asked  the  loved  ones  gathered  round  her 

Just  to  softly  sing  the  hymn : 
"Shall  we  meet  beyond  the  river, 

Where  the  surges  cease  to  roll, 
Where  in  all  the  bright  forever 

Sorrows  ne'er  shall  press  the  soul?" 

And  he  saw  her  sweetly  smiling 

As  she  crossed  the  narrow  sea; 
"Ah,  that  song  was  good  for  mother; 

It  will  surely  do  for  me. 
Yes,  dear  mother,  I  will  meet  you 

In  that  happy  land  above, 
Where  no  sorrow  ever  cometh, 

There  where  all  is  joy  and  love." 

Then  he  breathed  a  prayer  to  heaven 
For  his  weeping  wife  and  child; 

And  he  knew  that  he  was  sinking 
In  those  waters  deep  and  wild! 


118 


Poems  by  Theodore  Henry  Shackelford 

But  the  thought  of  seeing  mother 

Seemed  to  ease  his  weary  soul, 
As  he  passed  beyond  the  river, 
Where  the  surges  cease  to   roll. 


YESTERDAY . 

How  fast  the  years  have  fled  since  you  first 

came; 
An  angel  in  the  form  of  man  you  seemed  to 

be; 

And  how  your  presence  lightened  up  my  dark 
ened  life 
Then  as  you  spoke  those  magic  words  to 

me. 

But  yesterday,  it  seems,  you  called  again 
With  outstretched  arms,  and  clasped  me  to 

your  own  strong  heart, 

And  on  my  finger  placed  this  ring  which  glit 
ters  so 

And  vowed  that  Death,  us  twain,  should  nev 
er  part. 

Then  on  my  lips  you  placed  a  fervid  kiss, 
No  longer  did  the  world  seem  dark  or  cold 

to  me. 
My  love  for  you  was  kindled  like  a  flaming 

torch, 
Than  I  was  then,  no  queen  more  gay  could 

be; 

But  ere  that  kiss  had  faded  from  my  lips, 
Another,  from  my  trembling  side,  stole  you 
away  ; 


113 


Poems  by  Theodore  Henr y  Shackelford 

'Twas  thus  you  left  me  standing  there  in  grief 

alone, 

My  heart  still  bleeds  though  that  were  yes 
terday. 


MY  DREAM  GIRL. 

Oh,  there's  something  seems  to  tell  me  you're 

my  dream  girl 
Whom  I've  sought  with  ever-changing  hopes 

and  fears, 
That  at  last  I've  found,  and  know  that  you're 

the  one  pearl 

Which    will    hold    its    luster,    through    the 
changing  years. 

Oft,   when  nights  were  long  and    still,    and 

stars  were  gleaming, 
Has  there  come  a  soul,   in  harmony  with 

mine; 
'Twas  a  soul  whose  eyes  with  love  and  truth 

were  beaming, 
Yes,  a  dainty  soul,  wrapt  in  form  divine. 

Through  the  night,  she,  near  my  couch  would 

tarry 
Like  the  purple,  blushing  clouds  at  early 

dawn; 
(How  my  heart  did  yearn  its  message  then  to 

carry, 
But  before  the  sun  had  risen,  she  had  gone. 


114 


Poems  by  Theodore  Henry  Shackelford 

Then  my  heart  did  wildly  flutter  at  its  heart 

strings, 

And  did  strive  to  follow  where  my  ideal  led. 
But  its  strivings,  and  its  pain  were  only  vain 

things, 

For  I  knew  not  where  my  little  dream  girl 
fled. 

But  at  last,  my  heart  of  hearts,  it  seems  I've 

found  you, 
For   i   know  your  looks,  your  smile,  your 

form  divine, 

And  within  my  arms  I  long  to  really  hold  you, 
And  forever  more  to  love  and  call  you  mine. 


THE  GIRL  ON  THE  BOARDWALK. 

Can  it  be  that  I  am  dreaming 
As  my  morning  walk  I  take? 

No !    I  pinch  myself  and  answer 
I  am  clearly  wide  awake. 

So  I  know  that  you're  no  dream  girl 
Born  of  fairy's  wand  at  night, 

From  your  palace  come  to  charm  me 
In  the  pearly  Autumn  light. 

Still  you  cast  a  spell  about  me, 

Fairest  maiden  ever  born, 
As  you  flitter  hither,  thither, 

Like  one  borne  on  wings  of  morn. 


115 


Poems  by  Theodore  Henry  Shackelford 

And  I  wonder  where  you  came  from, 
Wonder  too,  where  you  will  go 

When  you  leave  Atlantic  City 
As  the  sad  winds  start  to  blow. 

And  I  long  to  clasp  you,  hold  you, 

Yes,  forever  and  a  day! 
But  no  look  of  recognition 

From  your  eyes  has  come  my  way. 

Then  I  know  you  are  a  dream  girl, 
Born  of  magic  wand  by  night; 

And  I  see  you  fading,  fading; 

You  have  vanished  from  my  sight. 


THE  FICKLE  LOVER. 

So  you  say  you's  angry  wid  me, 
An*  you's  leavin'  town  tonight, 

Gwine  away  to  stay  fo'evah, 
Now  Sam  I  don't  t'ink  dat's  right! 

My  you  sho  is  cruel  heahted, 
Dat's  de  way  you  done  befo'e, 

Got  mad  'cause  I  spoke  to  Jaspah, 
'Staid  away  a  month  aw  mo'e. 

An'  now  dat  is  skaisely  ovah 
'Fo'e  you's  actin'  up  again. 

Well  dat's  what  I  allus  'spected ; 
You  can't  put  no  faith  in  men. 


116 


Poems  by  Theodore  Henry  Shackelford 


Dat's  all  right  dough  I'll  git  even 
And  Fse  gwine  to  let  you  see 
Dat  you'll  hab  to  git  up  early 
Faw  to  git  ahead  ob  me. 

I  done  foun'  out  all  about  you, 
You  ain't  keepin'  nothin'  hid; 

I  heard  you  was  gwine  to  mahy 
Cindy  Johnson!    'deed  I  did! 

Well  now  since  you  seems  so  anxious, 
She  huh  self  done  tole  me  so, 

An1  she  had  de  ring  you  gib  huh 
Jis  about  a  month  ago. 


An'  I  'spose  you's  mad  at  huh 

Aw  else  she  has  tuhned  you  down, 

If  it  wa'nt  faw  dat  I  bet  you 
Dat  you  wouldn't  be  around. 

Oh  !  you  done  it  jis  to  try  me, 
Jis  to  see  what  I  would  do  ! 

Wondahd  if  I  was  a  flirtin' 
Aw  if  I  was  really  true  ! 

An*  you  nevah  did  love  Cindy! 

An*  you  drapped  de  ring  one  day 
When  you  went  up  daih  to  visit 

An'  to  pass  de  time  away! 

Look  hyeah  darkie,  you  'a  lyin', 
You  ain't  done  no  sich  a  t'ing  ; 

You's  engaged  to  'Cindy  Johnson, 
An'  faw  huh  you  bought  dat  ring  ! 


117 


Poems  by  Theodore  Henry  Shackelford 

But  we  foun'  you  out  togethah, 
She  ain't  gone  an  houah  since; 

Tole  me  faw  to  gib  dis  to  you 
An'  wid  all  huh  complimints. 

Hyeah's  yo'  ring  an*  you  can  hab  it, 

You  jis  take  it  now  and  go, 
An*  you  scoun'el  don't  you  neavah 

Daih  to  come  back  hyeah  no  mo'e! 


THE  PRODIGAL  SON. 

"Yes,  father,  I'm  about  to  go. 

The  place  has  lost  its  charm. 
The  world  has  more  in  store  for  me 

Than  dying  on  a  farm." 
Thus  spoke  a  lad,  long  years  ago, 

As  he  prapered  to  leave 
The  only  home  he  ever  knew, 

And  thus  his  parents  grieve. 

His  mother  begged  him  not  to  go, 

His  father  pleaded  too. 
But  he  replied,  "my  mind's  made  up 

And  that  I'm  bound  to  do; 
And  so  my  portion  give  me  now 

Which  falleth  unto  me, 
And  ere  the  moon  be  full  again, 

From  thee,  I,  far  shall  be." 

The  father  skid,  "alas  my  son, 
Why  break  your  mother's  heart !" 

But  still  his  share  the  son  received 
And  with  it  did  depart. 


118 


Poems  by  Theodore  Henry  Shackelford 

In  foreign  lands  he  traveled  far, 

And  many  sights  saw  he. 
He  saw  the  wonders  of  the  land, 

The  myst'ries  of  the  sea. 


And  on  fair  women,  wine,  and  song, 

His  money  he  did  spend. 
Nor  ever  slackened  he  his  pace 

Until  his  wealth  did  end. 
He  pawned  his  rings,  his  golden  chain 

He  pawned  his  raiment  fine, 
Then,  as  a  last  resort,  was  forced 

To  live  by  herding  swine. 


His  clothes  grew  filthy,  tattered,  torn, 

With  hunger  he  did  ache. 
He  said,  "I  was  indeed  a  fool 

A  course  like  this  to  take, 
While  here  I  languish,  and  would  fain 

The  husks  with  swine  to  share, 
My  father's  servants  there  at  home 

Have  plenty  and  to  spare. 

I  will  arise,  and  go  to  him 

And  his  forgiveness  seek." 
He  went,  and  as  he  neared  his  home 

His  look  was  sad  and  meek. 
He  said,  "I  am  unworthy  now 

To  be  a  son  to  thee, 
But  if  my  folly  thou'lt  forgive, 

Thy  servant  I  will  be." 


119 


Poems  by  Theodore  Henry  Shackelford 

The  father  hasted  then,  and  ran, 

And  hugged  and  kissed  his  boy, 
And  ordered  killed  the  fatted  calf 

And  held  a  feast  of  joy. 
He  bade  his  friends  come  to  that  feast, 

He  spread  the  news  around, 
"He  who  was  dead  has  come  to  life, 

He  who  was  lost,  is  found." 


EVA. 

Oft*  I've  noticed  in  the  Springtime 

When  the  winter  days  are  o'er, 
How  the  sweet  and  pretty  blossoms 

Cover  mountain,   vale,   and   moor; 
And  I  always  love  to  pick  them 

As  I  journey  on  my  way. 
But  alas!  the  fairest,  sweetest, 

"Fade  and  wither  in  a  day." 

Even  so  was  it  with  Eva, 

Fairer  flower  never  grew; 
Always  kind  and  tender  hearted, 

And  as  pure  as  morning  dew; 
Never  on  that  dear  old  campus 

Has  there  walked   more   perfect   girl; 
She  from  duty  never  faltered; 

Eva  was  indeed  a  pearl. 

And  while  others  took  life  easy, 
She  about  her  tasks  would  go ; 

Through  the  scorching  rays  of  summer, 
Autumn's  wind,   and  winter's  snow. 


120 


Poems  by  Theodore  Henry  Shackelford 

Although  others  proved  ungrateful 

For  the  favors  she  had  done; 
On  her  course  she  still  continued; 

Tried  to  comfort  every  one. 

Thus  it  used  to  give  me  pleasure 

Just  to  wander  o'er  the  hills, 
And  to  pick  the  fragrant  flowers 

Near  the  brooks  and  shady  rills ; 
And  to  give  them  all  to  Eva, 

Though  t'was  little  in  my  sight, 
She  a  passion  had  for  flowers 

And  would  take  them  with  delight. 

With  the  fast  approach  of  summer, 

Graduation   near  at  hand, 
Eva  went  to  do  her  shopping, 

Her  commencement  dress  was  planned; 
But  there  came  a  sudden  illness, 

She  grew  weaker  day  by  day; 
Then  it  seemed  that  in  a  twinkling 

Her  young  life  had  passed  away. 

And  the  goods  which  she  had  purchased, 

And  of  which  she  was  so  proud ; 
By  her  loving  friends  were  taken, 

And  were  made  into  a  shroud. 
Calm  she  lay  among  the  flowers, 

O'er  the  pillow  streamed  her  hair, 
In  her  hand  was  her  diploma; 

(That  was  her  Commencement  there!) 


131 


Poems  by  Theodore  Henry  Shackelford 

Graduated  from  earth's  college, 

Now  to  Heaven  she  has  gone; 
From  these  shores  so  dark  and  dreary 

To  a  land  of  perfect  dawn. 
And  I  trust  that  some  bright  morning 

I  shall  see  her  face  so  fair, 
As  she  stands  among  the  flowers, 

"In  the  upper  garden  there." 


HOW  SAM  GOT  THE  BEAR. 

Sam  Griffin  was  a  huntin'  man, 

Who  lived  in  Tennessee, 
An*  of  his  skill  wid  gun  an'  dogs, 

He  loved  to  boast,  did  he. 
He'd  caught  mo'e  possums,  killed  mo'e  baihs 

Dan  any  man  in  town — 
At  least  he  used  to  say  he  had, 

When  loaferin*  aroun'. 

He  owned  a  "ole  time  flint  lock"  gun 

Dat  couldn't  kill  a  lahk. 
I  know  'twas  made  a  hundahd  yeahs 

'Fo'e  Noah  built  de  ahk. 
He  also  owned  a  mangy  houn', 

An'  he  was  ancient,  too. 
His  teef  was  gone,  an1  bread  an'  milk 

Was  all  dat  he  could  chew. 

But  Sam  would  blow  about  his  dog 

An  tell  about  de  day 
When  "Towsah"  et  a  full-growed  baih, 

An*  chased  de  cubs  away. 


Poems  by  Theodore  Henry  Shackelford 

An'  den  his  wife  would  look  at  him, 

An'  kindah  squint  huh  eyes, 
An'  say,  "aw  Sam,  go  cut  some  wood, 

An'  stop  yo'  telling  lies." 


But  Sam  persisted  'till  one  day 

A  show  'nough  baih  did  come, 
An  'while  he  carried  off  a  pig 

De  folks  stood  helpless,  dumb. 
When  he  had  gone,  dey  thought  of  Sam 

An'  to  his  cabin  run, 
An'  said,  "hey  Sam,  we've  seen  a  baih, 

Go  git  yo'  dog  an'  gun." 


So  Sam  took  down  his  rusty  gun 

An'  called  his  flea-bit  dog. 
But  Towsah  was  so  old  an'  deef 

He  stood  daih  like  a  log. 
Until  he  saw  his  mastah  leave, 

An*  staht  across  de  fiel's, 
An*  den  he  scratched,  and  shook  hisself, 

An'  tagged  on  at  his  heels. 


Dey  walked  about  a  mile  aw  mo'e, 

Den  Towsah  "tucked  his  tail," 
An'  lookin'  straight  in  front  of  him 

Sam  saw  a  bloody  trail. 
It  led  towahds  a  gully  like, 

Sam  follered  it  in  daih, 
But  'fo'e  he'd  gone  a  dozen  yards 

He  run  up  on  dis  baih. 


123 


Poems  by  Thtodort  H  t  n  r  y  Shackelford 

Sam  gib  one  yell,  an'  tuhned  aroun1 

An'  thowed  away  his  gun. 
He  kicked  his  boots  from  off  his  feet 

An*  den  how  he  did  run. 
He  run  clean  ovah  Towsah,  »uh, 

An  lef  him  daih  to  die, 
Den  wid  de  track  all  cleah  in  front 

It  seemed  dat  he  would  fly. 

He  busted  thoo  de  brushes  like 

A  wild  deer  in  its  flight. 
Den  as  de  baih  snapped  at  his  heels 

De  cabin  hove  in  sight. 
His  wife  was  at  de  window  too, 

Sam  made  his  final  drive, 
Den  said,  "Hey  open  up  de  doo', 

I'se  brought  him  home  alive." 


BEHAVE  YO'SELF. 

Well  son,  I'll  tell  a  story  now, 

Espec'ly  jis  faw  you, 
Since  you  went  out  to  git  de  wood 

An'  missed  de  othah  two. 
Co'se  dis  un  ain't  so  funny  dough, 

Don't  s'pose  you'll  like  it  much ; 
It's  got  a  lesson  dought  faw  boys 

What  carry's  on  in  chu'ch. 

Now  p'raps  you  all  will  be  su'prised, 
May  even  crack  a  smile, 

To  t'ink  yo'  gran'pop  was  go  bad; 
Co'se  I  was  jis  a  chile, 


124 


Poems  by  Theodore  Henry  Shackelford 

An'  went  to  chu'ch  one  sumraah  day, 

De  sun  was  shinin'  strong, 
But  jis  de  same  my  mammy  took 

Huh  bumbashoote  along. 

My  daddy  said,  "Oh,  leave  it  home, 

'Taint  gwine  to  rain  a  bit." 
But  mammy  said  "You  nevah  min' 

I'll  fin'  some  use  faw  it." 
So  as  I  say  we  went  to  chu'ch 

In  all  dat  br'ilin'  sun, 
It  happened  we  was  kindah  late, 

De  meetin'  had  begun. 

But  we  walked  in  an'  took  ouah  seats, 

An'  heard  de  sermon  froo. 
De  preachah  he  talked  loud  an'  long, 

As  he  would  sometimes  do. 
An'  I  got  tiahed  sittin'  daih, 

An'  kicked  upon  de  seat, 
But  mamy  said  when  chu'ch  was  out 

"Dat  sermon  was  a  treat." 

Dey  had  a  aftah-meetin'  den, 

Mos'  ev'ry  one  took  paht, 
An'  tole  how  hahd  it  was  to  dodge 

Ole  Satan's  fiery  daht. 
By  dat  time  I  was  good  an*  mad, 

An'  noisy  as  could  be. 
"Behave  yo'self,"  my  mammy  said, 

An'  kindah  frowned  at  me. 

Well  faw  a  while  I  kep'  right  still 
As  each  his  'sperience  told ; 


125 


Poems  by  Theodore  Henry  Shackelford 

Den  Deacon  Johnson  raised  a  hymn, 

My  how  dat  music  rolled. 
Ole  Sistah  Green  got  happy  den, 

As  folks  will  do  down  Souf. 
She  went  to  fling  huh  han's  an*  smacked 

De  deacon  in  de  mouf! 


It  was  so  sudden,  don't  you  know, 

He  bellered  like  a  calf. 
I  tried  my  bes'  to  hoi'  it  in, 

But  I  jis  had  to  laugh. 
De  folks  in  front  all  tu'ned  aroun' 

An'  rolled  daih  eyes  at  me, 
An'  mammy  grabbed  me  in  de  neck, 

"You  come  out  hyeah,"  said  she. 

"Excuse  me  mammy,  dis  one  time," 

I  whimpahed  an'  I  cried, 
Because  I  saw  dat  she  had  brought 

Huh  bumbashoote  outside. 
But  she  undid  my  galluses, 

An*  helt  me  'cross  huh  knee, 
An'  den  she  raised  dat  bumbashoote 

An*  brought  it  down  on  me. 

She  beat  an'  beat,  an'  den  she  stopped 

And  talked  to  me  awhile, 
She  said  dat  if  you  spaih  de  rod 

You's  boun'  to  spile  de  chile. 
De  fiah  dat  shined  in  huh  eyes 

Was  strong  enough  to  dazzle. 
An'  when  she  stopped  dat  bumbashoote 

Was  wo'e  down  to  a  frazzle. 


126 


Poems  by  Theodore  Henry  Shackelford 

Faw  full  two  weeks,  suh,  aftah  dat, 

If  I  sot  down  to  eat, 
Why  fust  I  allus  had  to  put 

A  pillow  in  de  seat. 
De  lesson  which  dat  lickin'  taught 

I  tell  you  it  was  such 
Dat  nevah  from  dat  day  till  dis 

Has  I  cut  up  in  chu'ch. 


THE  AFTERMATH. 

It  was  summer,  I  walked  through  a  garden, 
The  pathway  was  pleasant  and  wide, — 

And  the  birds  in  the  treetops  were  singing — 
The  roses  grew  thick  on  each  side. 

But  I  trampled  them  down  in  my  hurry — 
The  fairest  the  sun  shone  upon — 

Then  I  noticed  the  summer  was  waning, 
And  that  most  of  the  roses  were  gone. 

Still  I  searched  till  at  length  I  had  found  one 
Which  I  grasped  as  a  balm  for  my  grief. 

But  alas !  I  beheld  when  I  plucked  it 
That  my  rose  had  a  poor,  withered  leaf. 


127 


Poems  by  Theodore  Henry  Shackelford 


YOU  HAVE  ENCOURAGED  MK 

To  B.  C.  B. 

Although  I  try  I  cannot  tell 

Just  how  you  stand  my  verse  so  well. 

Another  would  just  look  at  it, 

And  tell  me  that  I  ought  to  quit. 

But  you  typewrite  it  with  content, 

And  to  your  thoughts  do  not  give  vent, 

But  often,  when  all  hope  is  gone, 

You  smile  and  say  "that's  right,  keep  on." 

Those  words  encourage  me  so  well, 
They  seem  to  cast  a  magic  spell, 
Once  more  I  try,  and  in  short  time, 
I've  rattled  off  another  rhyme. 
And  when  again  we  have  a  chat, 
Then  you  exclaim  "did  you  write  that? 
Why  you're  a  marvel,  I  declare, 
I  tell  you  what,  you're  getting  there!" 

Then  I,  you  know,  can  scarce  believe, 
That  you're  not  trying  to  deceive 
Or  make  me  think  I'm  doing  well, 
Because  you  cannot  bear  to  tell 
The  truth,  and  thus  discourage  me, 
And  so  you  speak  like  that  you  see. 
However  since  it  hits  the  spot 
I'm  apt  to  make  it  yet  as  not. 

•9 

128 


Poems  by  Theodore  Henry  Shackelford 

And  if  some  day  I  do  succeed, 
I  shall  repay  your  noble  deed. 
Nor  shall  I  once  regret  the  cost, 
For  deeds  like  those  must  not  be  lost; 
It  will  be  something  worth  your  while. 
Yes,  that  is  true,  you  need  not  smile. 
And  what  a  pleasure  it  will  be 
To  pay,  for  you've  encouraged  me. 


FAREWELL. 

Alas  my  love,  that  this  should  come  1 

The  time  when  we  should  part — 
Though  thou  art  like  a  bird  set  free, 

Mine  is  a  broken  heart. 
Though  gay  and  happy  once  were  we, 

Each  to  the  other  all, 
Now  e'en  the  sweetest  moments  spent 

Seem  but  as  bitter  gall. 
Farewell  to  hope,  to  joy,  to  love, 

To  scenes  I've  known  so  well ; 
Farewell  to  friends,  farewell  to  home, 

And  thou,  my  love,  farewell! 

This  soul  of  mine  which  once  rejoiced 

Now  seems  so  crushed  and  dead ; 
And  life  for  me  no  pleasure  holds 

Since  thou  from  me  hast  fled ; 
But  still  my  heart  is  true  to  thee, 

And  let  no  traitor  say 
That  love  which  once  I  freely  gave 

I  now  would  take  away. 


129 


Poems  by  Theodore  Henry  Shackelford 

Farewell  to  hope,  to  joy,  to  love, 

To  scenes  I've  known  so  well. 
Farewell  to  friends,  farewell  to  home, 

And  thou,  my  love,  farewell ! 

Although  thou  hast  forsaken  me, 

And  caused  my  heart  to  pine, 
What  once  I  was,  I  still  remain, 

Now  and  forever  thine. 
And  when  to  dust  this  body  turns, 

Down  far  beneath  the  sod, 
My  spirit  still  shall  seek  that  path 

On  which  thy  feet  have  trod. 
Farewell  to  hope,  to  joy,  to  love, 

To  scenes  I've  known  so  well — 
Farewell  to  friends,  farewell  to  home; 

And  thou  my  love,  farewell ! 

And  still  farewell,  for  I  am  weak, 

And  cannot  say  thee  "no," 
Nor  seek  to  stay  thee  from  the  course 

Which  thou  dost  choose  to  go. 
Farewell  to  fields  and  babbling  brooks. 

To  bees  and  butterflies; 
Farewell  to  song  bird's  sweetest  note, 

Farewell  to  summer  skies. 
Farewell  to  hope,  to  joy,  to  love, 

To  scenes  I've  known  so  well, 
Farewell  to  thee,  unfaithful  love — 

To  life  itself,  farewell ! 


130 


"And  bless  my  paw  somewhere  in  France." 


Poems  by  Theodore  Henry  Shackelford 


SOMEWHERE  IN  THE  SOUTH. 

Oh,  Lord,  before  we  go  to  sleep, 

Please  bless  my  maw  and  me, 
And  bless  my  paw,  "somewhere  in  France"- 

Wherever  that  may  be — 
And  God  please  bless  our  cotton  crop, 

Don't  let  the  weevils  come 
And  ruin  it  again  this  year, 

Or  we  won't  have  no  home. 

Don't  let  Marse  Thompson  take  our  mules 

To  pay  that  grocery  bill ; 
Don't  let  him  take  our  cow  and  calf, 

Because  we  needs  them  still. 
Please  fix  some  way  so  that  my  maw 

Won't  have  to  work  so  hard 
From  Monday  until  Saturday, 

With  clothes  out  in  our  yard. 

And  God  please  help  the  officers 

To  treat  us  as  they  should, 
And  please  do  send  my  maw  and  me 

Some  coal  or  else  some  wood, 
Because  our  fence  rails  are  all  gone — 

We've  got  the  last  on  now — 
And  it  is  awful  cold  outdoors, 

So  help  us  Lord  somehow. 


131 


Poems  by  Theodore  Henry  Shackelford 

Don't  let  those  men  that  came  last  week 

And  took  my  Uncle  Jake, 
Come  back  to-night  for  maw  and  me, 

And  burn  us  at  the  stake, 
Because  we've  not  done  any  harm, 

We've  not  picked  any  fuss — 
He  hadn't  either,  he  was  sick, 

And  here  at  home  with  us. 


And,  oh,  please  bless  Aunt  Phoebe,  Lord! 

She's  guilty  of  no  crime — 
Except  to  grieve  for  Uncle  Jake, 

And  cry  most  all  the  time. 
Don't  let  the  gas  bombs  hurt  my  paw, 

Shield  him  from  shot  and  shell, 
Protect  him  from  the  aeroplanes 

And  Zeppelins  as  well. 

Bless  all  our  soldiers  at  the  front, 

Both  white,  please  Lord,  and  black, 
Watch  over  them,  both  night  and  day, 

And  let  them  all  come  back. 
And  God  please  bless  the  President 

With  Wsisdom  from  above, 
Smile  down  on  him  for  Jesus'  sake, 

And  fill  his  heart  with  love. 


Help  him  to  push  "New  Freedom's"  caus< 

Freedom  for  every  one — 
Give  him  a  seat  at  Your  right  hand 

When  life  on  earth  is  done. 


133 


Poems  by  Theodore  Henry  Shackelford 

And  lead  my  paw  throughout  this  war, 

And  bring  him  home  again, 
And  we  will  serve  You  all  our  lives, 

For  Jesus'  sake,  Amen! 


RIGHT  MUST  WIN. 

Oh,  tell  me  not  that  "right"  is  dead, 

That  "justice"  is  asleep, 
That  "Providence"  doth  not  exist, 

Nor  God  His  vigil  keep. 

Too  firm  indeed  is  my  belief 

In  "God's  eternal  plan" 
To  e'er  believe  he  could  forget 

His  promises  to  man. 

Though  "justice"  seems  perverted  oft', 

And  "evil"  conquers  "good," 
And  while  the  rich  their  substance  waste, 

The  "righteous"  beg  for  food. 

Though  carnal  "lust"  despoils  the  "pure," 

And  leaves  a  crimson  trail, 
And  "helpless  souls"  stretch  out  their  hands, 

And  cry  to  no  avail. 

Though  nations,  strong,  oppress  the  weak, 

And  wars  are  won  by  might, 
Yet  all  of  this,  somewhere,  somehow, 

Must  be  dethroned  by  right. 


133 


Poems  by  Theodore  Henry  Shackelford 


THE  LAUNDRY  MAN. 


One  day  a  famous  friend  of  mine — 

A  noble  hearted  Turk — 
Suggested  that  I  write  a  book 

Of  "helps  on  laundry  work." 
Now,  if  I  ever  were  induced 

My  private  views  to  tell, 
I'd  say,  like  Sherman  said  of  war, 

That  laundry  work  is — well. 

I  think  of  all  the  jobs  on  earth, 

The  meanest  one  of  all. 
It  leaves  a  mental  after-taste, 

Still  bitterer  than  gall. 
Of  knocks  and  kicks  and  hateful  looks 

There  never  is  a  lack. 
There's  always  some  one  standing  round 

To  stab  you  in  the  back. 

Some  cottage  mother  says  that  she 

Has  missed  a  lot  of  clothes 
And  has  a  list  a  full  yard  long, 

From  pillow-slips  to  hose. 
The  office  calls  you  every  day, 

To  hunt  up  this  or  that, 
For  some  one  else  has  lost  a  dress, 

A  shirt,  a  cap,  or  hat. 

And  if  you  tell  them  "what  is  what" 

They  run  around  and  jaw, 
And  tell  the  most  infernal  lies 

Of  clothes  they  never  saw. 


134 


Poems  byThcodo re  Henry  Shackelford 

Ypu  leave  your  work  and  off  you  go 

And  seek  and  search  about, 
And  while  you're  gone  the  engine  stops 

Or  else  a  fuse  burns  out. 


The  water  you  have  left  turned  on 

Has  flooded  all  the  floor, 
Or  else  a  steam  pipe's  leaky  valve 

Sounds  like  artillery's  roar. 
Perhaps  the  wringer  has  blown  up, 

The  mangle  lost  a  chain. 
Or  else  a  washer  will  not  work — 

The  belt  can't  stand  the  strain. 

You  tear  down  to  the  engine  room, 

But  get  no  further  cheer 
Than  this,  to  hear  some  alien  say, 

"Dey  hain't  no  hengineer." 
The  children  do  not  want  to  work, 

And  drag  their  feet  and  frown, 
Unless  you  grab  them  in  the  neck 

And  shake  their  dinner  down. 

The  coal  is  bad  and  full  of  slate, 

And  won't  burn  like  it  should; 
The  women  chop  the  wood-box  up — 

Nor  ask  for  kindling  wood. 
In  summer  you  are  wringing  wet, 

From  collar  to  your  knees. 
In  winter  time  you  step  out  doors 

And  in  a  moment  freeze. 


135 


Poems  by  Theodore  Henry  Shackelford 

I'm  going  to  tell  the  honest  truth, 

Although  I  am  no  shirk, 
I'd  rather  spend  my  time  in  France 

Than  doing  laundry  work. 
I'd  rather  join  a  bombing  squad 

Or  ride  a  "British  tank/' 
Than  be  just  "everybody's  slave" 

And  die  a  hopeless  crank. 

But  still  I  know  that  those  who  strive 

To  live  close  to  the  Lord, 
And  do  what's  right,  will  soon  or  late 

Receive  their  just  reward. 
Of  those  who  enter  Heaven's  gates 

And  lead  the  caravan, 
I  know  that  one  will  surely  be 

The  poor  old  laundry  man. 


GABRIEL'S  MESSENGERS. 

Daih's   a   whippoo'will   a   singin' 
(Jndahneaf  my  window  sill, 

Towsah  too,  keeps  howlin'  jis  outside  de  doo'. 
Now  when  birds  an'  beasts  acts  dat  way 
When  de  mornin's  calm  an'  still, 

From  dat  cabin  someone  sho  has  got  to  go. 

Now  I  don't  believe  in  sperrits, 
Nor  in  supahstitious  folks, 

An'  Fse  jis  as  independent  as  kin  be, 
But  I  feel  my  time's  'bout  up  now, 
'Case  Tse  lived  a  good  long  while, 

An'  I  'spec'  dat  Gab'iel  soon  will  come  faw 
me. 

136 


Poems  by  Theodore  Henry  Shackelford 

'Liza  Jane's  done  gone  to  Heaben 
Put  nigh  on  ten  yeahs  ago, 

An'  I  can't  jis  see  why  I  is  lef  hyeah  still. 
An'  somehow  I'se  kindah  longin' 
Faw  dat  little  white-washed  fence 

What  am  standin'  'roun'  de  chu'ch  yahd  by 
de  hill. 

Den  jis  lay  me  daih  beside  huh, 
Down  beneaf  de  elum  tree, 

Whaih  de  robins  in  its  branches  sadly  sing. 
An'  de  creepin'  vines  is  growin' 
An'  a  climbin'  on  de  stones, 

An'  de  grass  is  tall  an'  wavin'  in  de  spring. 


ON  ACCOUNT. 

You  said  I  would  reap  what  I  planted, 

You  said  I  would  pay  for  my  fun, 
I  laughed  as  I  said  in  my  folly 

"The  things  I  have  done,  I  have  done." 
Your  words  through  the  years  have  gone  with 
me, 

I  tried  but  I  could  not  forget. 
I  have  paid — a  thousand  times  over 

And  still  I  am  paying  that  debt. 


137 


Poems  by  Theodore  Henry  Shackelford 


THE  BUFFALOES'  PARADE. 

'Twos  a  March  day,  warm  and  sunny, 

In  the  year  "nineteen-eighteen," 
That  a  New  York  throng  was  treated 

To  this  patriotic  scene; 
When  three  thousand  negro  soldiers 

All  in  battle  togs  arrayed, 
Ere  they  left  to  help  their  Allies, 

Were  to  hold  a  grand  parade. 

Came  the  cry  at  length  "they're  coming,"" 

And  it  fell  on  eager  ears, 
For  ten  thousand  gay  spectators 

Gave  as  many  lusty  cheers, 
As  they  saw  the  manly  fighters 

Marching  up  Fifth  Avenue 
Past  the  Union  League's  great  clubhouse 

For  the  Governor's  review. 

Moved  they  with  clock-work  precision. 

Steady  step  and  fearless  eye, 
Heads  erect,  and  faces  forward, 

Bound  to  "see  it  through"  or  die. 
And  their  bayonets  were  bristling 

And  their  teeth  were  clenched  the  while, 
All  except  those  fleeting  moments 

When  some  friend  caused  them  to  smile. 


138 


Poems  by  Theodore  Henry  Shackelford 

And  the  watchful,  waiting  thousands 

Who  were  packed  along  the  way 
Cried  "Hurrah,  Three-Sixty-Seventh," 

And  again  "Hip,  hip  hurray." 
Then  the  boys  received  the  colors 

From  the  Governor's  own  hands 
And  again  they  started  marching 

To  the  music  of  their  bands. 

Thus  they  moved  on  up  to  Harlem, 

And  their  steady,  martial  tread 
Filled  each  patriot  with  courage, 

While  each  foe  was  filled  with  dread. 
There  were  mothers  who  were  crying, 

But  their  tears  were  tears  of  joy, 
Joy  that  each  could  help  her  country 

With  a  noble-hearted  boy. 

No  need,  there,  to  search  for  traitors, 

All  who  saw  those  negroes  knew 
That  beneath  each  suit  of  khaki 

Beat  a  heart  both  tried  and  true. 
And  they  knew  they  would  not  falter 

To  uphold  earth's  righteous  laws 
And  would  face  hell  and  the  Kaiser, 

To  defend  their  country's  cause. 

Then  the  bands  played  "Suwanee  River" — 

It  was  syncopated,  too — 
And  the  crowds  all  grew  light-hearted, 

For  you  just  could  not  stay  blue. 
Then  they  next  cut  loose  on  "Dixie," 

And  you  ought  have  heard  them  play, 
All  the  tears  were  quickly  banished, 

Driven  were  all  cares  away. 

139 


Poems  by  Theodore  Henry  Shackelford 

And  the  cheers  rose  higher,  higher, 

For  the  noble  Buffaloes 
Who  had  spent  their  time  in  gaining 

Strength  to  overcome  their  foes, 
And  to  keep  Old  Glory  waving, 

And  to  march  on,  undismayed, 
Until  they  returned  triumphant 

From  their  European  parade. 


HOPE 

O  Hope!  into  my  darkened  life 

Thou  hast  so  oft'  descended; 
My  helpless  head  from  failure's  blows, 

Thou  also  hast  defended; 
When  circumstances  hard,  and  mean, 

Which  I  could  not  control, 
Did  make  me  bow  my  head  with  shame, 

Thou  comforted  my  soul. 

When  stumbling  blocks  lay  all  around, 

And  when  my  steps  did  falter, 
Then  did  thy  sacred   fires  burn 

Upon  my  soul's  high  altar. 
Oft'  was  my  very  blackest  night 

Scarce  darker  than  my  day, 
But  thou  dispelled  those  clouds  of  doubt, 

And  cheered  my  lonely  way. 

E'en  when  I  saw  my  friends  forsake, 

And  leave  me  for  another, 
Then  thou,  O  Hope,  didst  cling  to  me 

Still  closer  than  a  brother; 
Thus  with  thee  near  I  groped  my  way 

Through  that  long,  gloomy  night 
Till  now;  yes,  as  I  speak,  behold, 

I  see  the  light !  the  light ! 

140 


Poems  by  Theodore  Henry  Shackelford 


DE  DEACON'S  MISTAKE 


Now  Hi'am  Ephum  Johnson  was 

A  pusson  ob  renown, 
A  deacon  in  de  Baptist  Chu'ch, 

De  oldest  in  de  town ; 
Respected  by  bpfe  white  an*  black, 

Because  ob  kindly  ways, 
Which  dough  peculiar  wah  conceived 

In  dose  dahk  slav'ry  days, 

An'  many  tales  de  deacon  tol', 

Which  brought  teahs  to  de  eyes, 
Ob  dose  who  heahd  an*  filled  dey  heahts 

Wid  sorrow  an*  surprise. 
He  tole  ob  slav'ry,  sin  an1  shame, 

An'  deed  ob  dankest  hue, 
He  told  dem  ob  One  crucified, 

Who  died  fo'  me  an*  you. 

An'  sinnahs  trimbled  when  dey  saw 

Him  comin'  down  de  street, 
An'  always  doffed  dey  hats  to  him 

Wheah  evah  dey  might  meet. 
An'  always,  too,  in  meetin's  daih 

Wah  many  groans  an*  sighs, 
As  deacon  prayed  yo'  thoughts  arose 

Frum  ea'th  to  vaulted  skies. 


141 


Poems  by  Theodore  Henry  Shackelford 

But  yet,  in  spite  ob  all  ob  dis, 

De  deacon  he  would  go 
An'  stay  away  faw  half  de  night, 

Whaih?  no  one  seemed  to  know. 
An*  people  den  begun  to  talk, 

An*  sometimes  laugh  or  smile; 
But  Deacon  Johnson  went  to  chu'ch 

An*  prayed  on  all  de  while. 

De  meetin'  did  not  seem  complete 

If  deacon  was  not  daih ; 
No  one  could  raise  de  hymns  like  he, 

Naw  no  one  lead  in  praih. 
But  strange  t'ings  happen  in  dis  life, 

De  dumb  is  made  to  talk, 
An*  sometimes  dose  lame  fum  dey  youth 

Take  up  dey  beds  an*  walk. 

So  deacon,  now  by  habit  bent, 

Strolled  down  de  road  one  night, 
An'  some  one  seen  him  sneakin'  in 

When  it  was  broad  daylight. 
'Twas  Sunday,  an'  dough  deacon  knowed 

Dat  he  was  in  de  lu'ch 
He  put  on  his  Prince  Albert  coat 

An'  went  on  off  to  chu'ch. 

But  dough  he  tried  so  very  ha'd 

His  vigil  still  to  keep, 
His  eyelids  kep'  a-drappin*  'till 

Dey  finely  closed  in  sleep. 
An'  he  would  sort  o'  nod  his  head 

An*  slowly  move  his  han's 
Aroun'  in  semicircles  like 

So  many  little  fans. 

142 


Poems  by  Theodore  Henry  Shackelford 

De  preachuh  finished  up  his  talk 

While  he  was  slcepin'  daih, 
An1  said,  "If  Bruddah  Johnson's  heah, 

Will  he  please  lead  in  praih?" 
"Yes,  daih  he  is !"  some  sistah  said, 

Expectin'  him  to  lead ; 
Dat  fan'like  motion  still  kep'  on — 

He  was  asleep,  indeed. 

An'  when  de  preachah  looked  an'  saw, 

He  said  with  thund'rous  roah, 
Dat  rattled  'gainst  de  window-panes, 

An*  rolled  on  out  de  doah, 
"Ouah  bruddah  seems  to  be  asleep. 

Some  tonic  he  must  need ! 
Now,  Bruddah  Johnson,  when  you  wake, 

Will  you  please  kindly  lead?" 

Dat  dis  was  still  de  night  befo', 

Good  Deacon  Johnson  felt. 
An'  he  said,  "No,  suh,  lead  yo'-self, 

You  know  dat  I  jis  dealt!" 
Well,  folks,  I  tell  you  now  dat  chu'ch 

Was  nigh  tu'ned  upside-down, 
An'  when  'twas  foun'  dat  he  played  cards, 

De  Deacon  lef  de  town. 

A  lesson,  too,  he  lef  behin' 

Faw  folks  who  seemed  to  doubt, 
Dat  it  is  true,  de  sins  you  do, 

Will  sometimes  fin'  you  out. 
An*  sayin'  high-faultin'  praihs 

Don't  help  a  single  bit, 
When  in  yo'  heaht  you's  nothin'  but 

A  low-down  hyppocrite. 

143 


Poems  by  Theodore  Henry  Shackelford 


A  RACE  FOR  LIFE 


Far  in  the  wilds  of  Canada, 

Deep  in  the  timber  belt, 
Where  giant  hemlocks  skyward  rose 

A  logger's  family  dwelt. 
And  in  the  spring  the  logs  were  cut, 

And  seasoned  for  the  mill ; 
In  summer  all  his  time  it  took 

His  plot  of  ground  to  till. 

In  autumn  there  was  harvesting, 

And  other  work  to  do, 
Supplies  to  get,  and  firewood, 

To  last  the  winter  through. 
And  when  at  length  by  snow  and  ice 

The  forest  kings  were  crowned 
And  nature  slept  all  clothed  in  white, 

Still  work  enough  was  found. 

For  then  the  logger  plied  his  trade, 

And  made  a  trip  each  day, 
And  to  the  siding  took  his  logs 

Some  fifteen  miles  away. 
Returning  thus  one  afternoon, 

He  struck  the  lonely  road 
Which  lay  between  his  home  and  him 
When  he  had  sold  his  load. 


144 


Poems  by  Theodore  Henry  Shackelford 

"Get  up,  my  beauties,"  then  said  he — 

His  horses  forward  sprang, 
And  clear  upon  the  frosty  air 

The  many  sleigh  bells  rang. 
The  woods  lay  dark  and  still  and  bare, 

And  from  the  trees  around, 
No  echo  broke  upon  his  ears 

Except  the  sleighbells'  sound. 

He  still  drove  on  his  prancing  steeds, 

For  anxious  then  was  he 
To  reach  his  home  before  the  night, 

And  wife  and  children  see. 
Then  of  a  sudden  came  a  sound 

That  fills  strong  hearts  with  fear, 
The  horses,  too,  that  sound  have  heard, 

With  fright  they  plunge  and  rear. 

And  closer  now  there  comes  again 

A  long  blood  curdling  wail, 
It  was  a  wolf,  the  driver  knew, 

His  face  turned  deathly  pale. 
And  soon  that  sound  was  multiplied 

As  others  joined  the  chase ; 
Then  as  the  driver  snapped  his  whip 

A  race  for  life  took  place. 

The  horses  shook  their  flowing  manes, 

Their  heads  were  outward  tost, 
Their  hoof  beats  rained  upon  the  snow, 

Then  on  the  air  were  lost. 
Could  he  but  reach  the  clearing  first, 

There  in  its  friendly  space, 
The  driver  knew  a  chance  he  stood 

That  howling  pack  to  face. 

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Poems  by  Theodore  Henry  Shackelford 

And  so  he  drove  his  frantic  steeds 

And  called  them  out  by  name, 
Up,  Dandy !    Lil' !    Hi  Jack,  you  scamp ! 

And  on  the  pack  still  came. 
Then  mingled  with  the  howl  of  wolves, 

The  silver  sleigh  bells  rang, 
Far  out  in  air  the  driver's  whip 

Above  the  horses  sang. 

m 
) 

The  wolves,  half  starving,  see  their  meal 

About  to  slip  away, 
They  snapping,  snarling  as  they  come, 

Strive  to  surround  their  prey. 
The  driver  rises  to  his  feet, 

The  reins  he  clutches  tight ; 
And  lifts  the  horses  in  their  stride 

And  drives  with  all  his  might. 

Gone  is  his  cap  and  torn  by  wolves, 

His  hair  tost  by  the  wind, 
The  comfort  tied  about  his  neck 

Is  streaming  out  behind. 
His  veins  stand  out  like  gnarled  vines 

Around  some  rugged  tree, 
And  from  their  sockets  stand  his  eyes; 

Yet  ever  on  drives  he. 

And  still  drives  on  those  foaming  steeds, 

And  slackens  not  his  pace ; 
But  only  prays  that  they  may  last 

To  win  that  awful  race. 
The  horses'  breath  comes  thick  and  hot; 

They  quiver,  too,  with  fright ; 
Then  as  their  pace  begins  to  fail, 

The  clearing  comes  in  sight. 


Poems  by  Theodore  Henry  Shackelford 

And  now  he  quickly  reins  them  in, 

And  brings  them  standing  there ; 
Quick  to  his  shoulde\  flies  his  gun, 

A  shot  rings  on  the  air. 
And  quick  in  answer  to  that  shot 

One  hungry  wolf  was  gone, 
And  as  he  fell  by  all  the  pack 

Was  he  then  pounced  upon. 

To  crimson  soon  was  turned  the  snow, 

And  dead  wolves  strewed  the  place 
Where  lately  had  the  driver  stood 

With  grim  death  face  to  face. 
And  ere  that  gun  had  ceased  to  crack. 

The  last  gaunt  brute  was  gone ; 
The  driver  gathered  up  his  reins 

And  once  more  he  drove  on. 


HYMN  TO  PHILADELPHIA 


Though  you  may  travel  many  miles, 

And  go  from  coast  to  coast, 
Of  all  the  cities  you  will  see, 

There's  one  you'll  love  the  most ; 
It  is  in  Pennsylvania, 

Upon  the  Delaware, 
And  all  the  nations  of  the  earth 

Are  represented  there. 


147 


Poems  by  Theodore  Henry  Shackelford 

'Twas  William  Penn  who  laid  its  plans 

In  years  long  past  and  gone. 
Now  though  he  sleeps  beneath  the  sod 

That  city  still  lives  on. 
Her  name  is  Philadelphia, 

Tribute  to  her  we  bring, 
And  all  who  walk  upon  her  streets 

With  joy  her  praises  sing. 

And  hospitality  for  all 

Doth  in  her  heart  exist, 
Which  is  akin  to  "mother  love," 

That  you  cannot  resist. 
When  once  you've  tasted  of  her  joys, 

No  matter  where  you  roam, 
You  always  will  remember  her, 

And  think  of  her  as  "home." 

O,  blessed  Philadelphia, 

Thy  name  we  love  to  hear ; 
Within  thy  boundaries  it  seems 

To  heaven  we  are  near ! 
Thy  river's  peaceful  waters  flow 

Out  to  the  deep  blue  sea, 
And  mighty  ships  upon  it  ride 

In  perfect  safety. 

Thou  art  a  city  which  can  boast 

Of  great  commercial  wealth, 
While  latitude  and  longitude 

Make  thee  abound  in  health. 
We  love  thy  parks  and  museums, 

Thy  schools  and  churches  grand, 
Thy  literature,  and  works  of  art, 

The  finest  in  the  land. 


148 


Poems  by  Theodore  Henry  Shackelford 

Here  liberty  was  first  proclaimed, 

Upon  "that  July  morn," 
And  in  good  Betsy  Rosses  house 

Old  Glory,  too,  was  born. 
Then  fling  thy  standard  to  the  sky, 

And  let  it  proudly  wave ; 
And  let  all  nations  know  thy  worth, 

Thou  city  of  the  brave ! 


MY  COUSIN  FROM  BOSTON 


Now,  we  live  in  a  "country  town," 

As  folks  are  wont  to  say ; 
I  had  a  pretty  cousin,  though, 

Who  lived  up  Boston  way. 
And  invitations  oft'  to  her 

By  wife  and  me  were  sent ; 
We  wanted  her  to  visit  us, 

And  would  not  be  content, 
But  wrote  and  wrote  to  Boston. 

A  message  we  at  last  received, 

And  read  it  with  a  smile, 
My  cousin  said  'twould  please  her  much 

To  visit  us  a  while. 
So  to  the  station  then  next  day 

We  had  the  chauffeur  drive, 
And  meet  the  train  on  which  she  was 

Expected  to  arrive — 
"The  limited  from  Boston." 


149 


Poemi  by  Theodora  Henry  Shackelford 

But  he  came  back  and  said  her  wrath 

Upon  him  she  had  poured, 
And  said  that  she  had  rather  walk 

Than  ride  up  in  a  "Ford." 
And  then  my  wife  to  meet  her  ran, 

And  kissed  her  on  the  face. 
'Twas  not  returned ;  my  cousin  said 

Folks  thought  it  out  of  place 
To  kiss  at  all  in  Boston. 


But  still  we  overlooked  her  faults — 

That  was,  my  wife  and  I — 
We  said  that  all  would  come  out  right, 

In  some  sweet  bye  and  bye. 
So  many  days  she  spent  with  us, 

But  worse  and  worse  she  grew ; 
And  she  would  grumble  and  complain, 

No  matter  what  we'd  do — 
'Twas  different  in  Boston. 

On  Sundays  if  we  went  to  church 

And  heard  a  sermon  grand, 
Why  she  would  say  the  preacher  was 

The  poorest  in  the  land. 
On  weekdays  if  we  saw  a  game 

At  our  baseball  park, 
She  said  the  grandstand  looked  as  old 

As  Uncle  Noah's  ark — 
They  had  it  beat  in  Boston. 

Or  if  we  went  to  see  a  show 

At  our  playhouse  new, 
She  said  "  'twas  small  and  second  class, 

The  show  was  rotten,  too." 


150 


Poems  by  Theodore  Henry  Shackelford 

"The  Tremont  and  the  Hollis  Street 

Have  got  that  skinned  a  mile." 
Yes,  that's  the  very  way  she  talked, 

And  never  cracked  a  smile — 
My  cousin  up  from  Boston. 

A  letter  wife  one  day  picked  up, 

And  womanlike,  you  know, 
She  had  to  read  it  through  and  through 

Before  she'd  let  it  go. 
My  cousin's  mother  it  was  from, 

It  had  arrived  that  day ; 
She  mentioned  several  other  things, 

And  then  went  on  to  say 
That  things  were  dull  in  Boston. 

3- 

She  also  said  "I'm  mighty  glad 
You  struck  those  country  folks, 

I  thought  that  I  would  nearly  die 

A  laughing  at  your  jokes." 

Still  we  resolved  to  hold  our  peace 
And  play  the  game  on  through 

And  not  let  on  that  we  were  wise, 
And  see  what  she  would  do — 

This  cousin  up  from  Boston. 

We  took  her  out  to  dinner  then, 

At  our  best  cafe, 
I  noticed  that  she  ate  right  well, 

Nor  did  she  long  delay, 
The  dinners  cost  two  dollars  each, 

But  as  we  neared  the  door, 
She  cast  a  backward  glance  and  said, 

"That  service  sure  was  poor, 

We've  got  it  beat  in  Boston." 

151 


Poems     by     Theodore     Henry     Shackelford 

And  then  she  laughed  about  the  friends 

Whom  we  met  on  the  street, 
We  never  passed  a  single  one 

That  Boston  could  not  beat. 
And  when  at  last  we  reached  that  place, 

Which  wife  and  I  called  "home," 
She  said,  as  round  the  cosy  room 

Her  chilly  gaze  did  roam, 
"I  wish  I  was  in  Boston." 

That  was  too  much  my  cup  was  full 

And  slopping  o'er  the  brim, 
My  jaw  got  set  and  on  my  face, 

There  came  a  look  most  grim, 
I  said,  "You'd  better  go  there  then, 

My  work  is  all  in  vain. 
You  are  the  worst  I've  ever  seen, 

You've  got  more  gall  than  brain, 
Yes  go  on  back  to  Boston!" 

My  cousin  then  broke  down  and  cried, 

To  change  she  made  a  vow ; 
She  kept  it  too,  then  fell  in  love, 

And  she  is  married  now, 
They  have  the  cutest  little  flat 

Not  many  squares  away; 
She  and  her  husband  visit  us 

Most  every  other  day, 
Nor  does  she  mention  "Boston." 


152 


Fido  'spected  somepin  mus'  be  wrong. 


Poems     by     Theodore     Henry     Shackelford 


FIDO 

Yes,  dat's  Fido  what  you  see  daih, 

Co'se  he's  gittin'  ole  an'  slow; 

An'  his  bes'  days  all  is  ovah  now,  I  feah. 

But  I'll  tell  you  why  we  keeps  him, 

Faw  I  s'pose  you'd  like  to  know, 

Hit's  a  story,  too,  I'd  like  faw  you  to  heah. 

He  was  little  when  we  got  him, 

But  he  had  a  heap  o'  sense, 

Dough  daih  wa'nt  no  pedigree  'tached  to  his 

name. 

He  was  pahtly  houn'  an*  bull  dog 
An'  a  little  shepe'd,  too, 
But  dat  dog  he  made  you  love  him  jis  de  same. 

He  was  young  an'  fat  an'  playful, 
Wid  a  nice  clean  coat  o'  haih, 
An'  his  limbs  was  jis  as  graceful  as  could  be; 
An'  his  eyes  was  bright  an'  sparklin' 
An'  his  hearin'  it  was  keen, 
Better  dog  dan  him  you  wouldn't  want  to  see. 

i 

An'  de  reason  why  we  keeps  him 
An'  we  give  him  sich  good  keer 
Is  because  dat  many,  many  yeahs  ago, 
When  we  chillen  all  was  little 
An'  ouah  daddy  was  away, 
Dat  a  tramp  come  up  to  ouah  house  you  know. 


153 


Poemt     by     Theodore     Henry     Shackelford 

He  axed  mammy,  "Whaih  yo'  husband'?" 

Mammy  said  he  was  away 

Den  at  once  dat  tramp  he  stahted  gittin'  bad ; 

Said  dat  he  mus'  hab  some  money 

An'  he  stahted  lookin'  roun' 

An*  I  s'pose  he'd  took  de  las'  cent  dat  we  had. 

i 

But  somehow  it  seems  dat  Fido 
'Spected  somepin  mus'  be  wrong 
An'  at  once  he  come  a  dashin'  thoo  de  doo* 
An'  my  mammy  was  so  skaid,  suh, 
Dat  she  couldn't  say  a  word — 
She  jis  stood  daih  sick  an'  tremblin'  in  de  floo'. 

Den  ole  Fido's  back  got  bristled 

An'  his  eyes  tunned  almos'  green 

An'  he  also  had  a  look  upon  his  face 

Dat  said  he  was  daih  faw  business 

An'  dey'd  be  somebody  bit; 

So  de  tramp  decided  den  to  leave  de  place. 

And  he  started  out  a  runnin', 

Wid  ole  Fido  at  his  heels, 

An'  dey  looked  jis  like  two  racers  on  a  track 

Bruthah  Bub  was  yellin'  sick  'im, 

Jis'  as  loud  as  he  could  yell, 

An'  ole  Fido  took  him  roun'  de  house  an'  back. 

Man,  dat  tramp  was  runnin'  puhty — 

Coat  tail  stood  out  on  de  win* — 

I  can't  tell  you  how  he   looked   an*   I'm   not 

try'n — 

Den  I  saw  him  tuhnin*  sideways 
And  I  wondah'd  what  'twas  faw, 
It  was  only  so  as  he  could  keep  from  fly'n'I 

154 


Poemt     by     Theodore     Henry     Shtckelford 

Fido  gib  him  one  good  bite,  dough, 

As  de  tramp  went  troo  de  gate, 

An  dat  dog  he  was  excited  as  could  be. 

Den  he  looked  up  in  ouah  faces 

An'  his  tail  was  waggin'  so 

Jis  as  if  to  say,  "Now  ain't  you  proud  o'  me?" 

Bruthah  Bub  den  hugged  an'  kissed  him 

An'  my  mammy  hugged  'em  bofe, 

'Cause  daih  really  wasn't  nothin'  else  to  do. 

An'  when  daddy  come  at  night,  suh, 

An'  foun'  out  what  he  had  did, 

Why  he  called  ole  Fido  in  an'  hugged  him  too. 

Now  aldough  he's  ole  an'  feeble    , 
An'  his  teef  is  falling'  out, 
An'  his  haih  is  gittin'  straggly  like  an*  thin, 
An'  He  can't  see  like  he  use'  to 
An'  his  hearin'  ain't  so  fine, 
Still  we  keeps  him  faw  de  good  dat  he  has 
been. 


155 


Poems     by     Theodore     Henry     Shackelford 


THE  TRIALS  OF  AN  ENTERTAINER 


Well,  daih  ain't  no  use  in  talkin', 

Daih's  some  folks  dat  jis  won't  do ; 
Dey  ain't  got  a  bit  mo'e  mannahs 

Dan  a  chile  ob  one,  aw  two. 
In  de  chu'ch,  aw  hall,  aw  pahlah, 

Makes  no  diffe'nce  whaih  you  go, 
You  will  meet  dat  kind  ob  people 

Dat  is  boun'  to  make  you  so'e. 

Dey  won't  come  till  ten  o'clock,  suh, 

So  de  concert  can  begin. 
Even  aftah  you  git  stahted 

Some  will  come  a  walkin'  in, 
Soundin'  like  a  pack  o'  hosses, 

Jist  a  stompin'  on  de  floo'. 
An'  dey'll  walk  right  straight  up  front,  suh, 

So  daih  finery  dey  can  show. 

Den  dey'll  stan'  daih  jis  faw  meanness; 

Staht  to  squabblin'  'bout  a  seat; 
Now  if  dat  ain't  aggravating 

Well,  I  hope  I  may  be  beat. 
Den  you'll  see  some  gall  an'  feller 

Sittin'  on  de  fust  front  row 
Dat  will  allus  be  a  tryin' 

Faw  to  show  how  much  dey  know. 

An'  dey'll  talk  all  thoo  de  singin', 

Dey  don't  want  to  hyeah  daih-self — 
An'  dey'll  keep  up  sich  a  racket 

Dat  daih  can't  nobody  else. 
If  dey  know  de  piece  you's  speakin' 

Dey  recite  it  Hong  wid  you, 
But  daih  ain't  no  use  in  kickin', 

Cause  some  people  jis  won't  do. 

156 


Poems     by     Theodore     Henry     Shackclford 

LULLABY 

What's  de  mattah,  honey  chile, 
You's  been  cryin'  dis  long  while? 
Now  gib  mammy  jis  one  smile — 

Hush,  hush,  hush. 
All  day  long  you's  run  about, 
Now  yo'  mammy  does  not  doubt 
Dat  huh  baby's  tiahd  out — 

Hush,  hush,  hush. 

"Ohthah  chillen  playin'  too," 
Yes,  yo'  mammy  knows  dats  true, 
But  dey's  oldah,  chile,  dan  you ; 

Hush,  hush,  hush. 
Golden  sun  am  in  de  Wes', 
Time  faw  you  to  go  to  res' — 
Lay  yo'  head  on  mammy's  breas' — 

Hush,  hush,  hush. 

Cotton  fiel's  am  snowy  white; 
You  mus'  go  to  bed  tonight; 
An'  git  up  befo'e  daylight — 

Hush,  hush,  hush. 
Say  yo'  praihs,  "I  lay  me  down," 
Chile,  you  mus'  not  look  aroun', 
Dat  wa'nt  nothin'  but  a,  soun' — 

Hush,  hush,  hush. 

Now  git  in  yo'  trun'le  bed, 
Since  yo'  evenin'  praih  is  said ; 
Angels  flutt'rin  roun'  you  head — 

Hush,  hush,  hush. 
Dough  you's  tiahd  out  to-night, 
You  wil  wake  up  feelin'  bright, 
Now  aint  dat  a  puhty  sight? 

Hush,  hush,  hush. 

157 


LULLABY. 


"Words  and  melody  by 
Theodore  H.  Shackle  ford. 

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JUST  FOR  YOU. 


Words  and  Melody  by 
Theodore  H.  Shackleford. 

Andantino. 


Music  arranged  by 
R.  Henri  Robinson. 


lit. 


^c-tHfr — nj  ,  j  g-^^ — r^-ra 
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« — F 


Just  be-fore  the  close  of  day,  As  I    put  my  work  a  -  way,  And  the 


j 


west-ern  sky  takes  on  a  ros-y    hue, 


Then  I  long  to  see  your  face, 
I    J      I      I 


JUST  FOR  YOU.— Concluded. 


And    to  have  you  'round  the  place.  For  it    does  not  seem  like 

T 


CHORUS. 


* — *- 


home,  dear,  without  you.       You  were  always  kind  and  true,  You  were 


rit. 


-•     .   p 


r    f  /  J  r  M 


it 


bright  and  happy,  too,  And  my  aching  heart  is  longing  just  for  you. 


Poems  by  Theodore  Henry  Shackelford 


JUST  FOR  YOU. 

Just  before  the  close  of  day, 
As  I  put  my  work  away, 

And  the  western  sky  takes  on  a  rosy  hue, 
Then  I  long  to  see  your  face ; 
And  to  have  you  round  the  place; 

For  it  does  not  seem  like  home,  dear,  with 
out  you. 

Chorus. 

You  were  always  kind  and  true, 

You  were  bright  and  happy,  too, 

And  my  aching  heart  is  longing  just  for  you. 

Now  the  weeds  grow  rank  and  tall 
All  around  the  garden  wall, 

For  no  flowers  there  have  bloomed  since  you 

have  gone. 

And  the  place  seems  dull  and  drear, 
Since  no  longer  you  are  here, 
And  the  grass  is  dry  and  withered  on  the 
lawn. 

Now  the  same  friends  seldom  call, 
And  they  do  not  seem  at  all 

Like  they  used  to  be  before  you  went  away. 
And  your  chair  is  vacant  still, 
That's  a  place  which  none  can  fill, 

Since  the  angels  took  you  from  me  that  sad 
day. 

108 


Poeats     by     Theodor*     H«nry     Shack«lford 


THAT  QUARTET  FROM 
DOWNINGTOWN 


Hyeah!  you  fellers  stop  dat  yellin', 

Wakin'  people  from  daih  sleep, 
An'  a  bangin'  dat  planner, 

Singin'  "Mary  don't  you  weep." 
You's  as  good  as  lots  ob  quartets 

Dat  you  sees  a  goin'  roun'; 
But  you  jis  can't  hoi'  a  can'le 

Faw  dem  boys  from  Downin'town! 

Dis  hyeah  aint  no  place  to  practice, 

An'  to  'speriment  on  folks; 
I  declaih  to  goodness  gracious 

You  is  jus'  a  lot  ob  jokes. 
Why  daihs  no  planner  made,  *uh, 

Dat  can  make  as  sweet  a  soun' 
As  dat  rich  an'  nachul  music 

Ob  dem  boys  from  Downin'town. 

Go  on  off  down  in  de  cellah 

If  you  want  to  learn  to  sing 
So  you  ha'monize  togethah 

Till  you  hyeah  de  music  ring. 
Man  you  feel  yo'  wings  a  sproutin' 

An'  you  can't  stay  on  de  groun* 
When  you  hyeah  some  raal  good  singahs 

Like  dem  boys  from  Downin'town. 


163 


Poemi     by     Theodore     Henry     Shackelford 

Johnny  daih,  his  voice  is  shaky, 

Waltah,  his  is  kindah  rough, 
Henry,  his  is  sharp  an'  squeaky, 

Matthew  his  aint  low  enough. 
Den  when  singin'  'bout  ole  Pharoh 

Be  right  glad  to  see  him  drown, 
Like  you  would  if  you  was  singin' 

Wid  dem  boys  from  Downin'town! 

If  you's  singing'  'bout  yo'  sorrer 

Git  dat  grin  from  off  yo'  face; 
I  declaih  sich  awful  actin' 

Sholy  is  a  big  disgrace. 
Why  you  bows  yo'  head  wid  pity, 

An'  de  teahs  come  tricklin  down, 
When  you  hyeah  dat  quartet  singin' 

Massah's  in  de  col',  col'  groun' ! 

Stop  dat  tuggm*  an'  a  strainin/ 

Soun'  jis  like  a  dyin'  calf; 
Dough  Fse  tryin*  not  to  do  it 

Dat  ah  singin'  makes  me  laugh. 
Stop  dat  talkin'  at  yo'  practice, 

Lay  dat  pleggone  banjo  down, 
Else  you'll  nevah  learn  to  sing,  suh, 

Like  dem  boys  from  Downin'town! 


164 


Poems     by     Theodore     Henry     Shackelford 


MEMORIES  OF  DIXIE 

By  my  fireside  I'm  sitting, 

And  I  ponder  all  alone; 

And  I  watch  the  flick'ring  shadows  moving 

round. 

While  the  bleak  wind  howls  and  whistles 
Just  outside  my  northern  home, 
And  it  piles  the  snow  in  drifts  upon  the  ground. 

In  my  mind  there  are  awakened, 

Memories  that  long  have  slept, 

But,  alas!  they  only  fill  my  heart  with  pain, 

For  I  long  once  more  to  linger 

In  the  place  where  I  was  born, 

And  to  live  in  dear  old  Dixieland  again. 

And  I  long  to  see  the  river 
And  to  stroll  along  its  brink 
While  its  depths  reflect  the  moonlight's  golden 

glow. 

And  for  Dixie's  balmy  climate 
All  my  soul  doth  long  tonight, 
Where  the  roses  and  the  orange  blossoms 

grow. 

On  the  old  bench  with  my  sweetheart 
I  would  love  to  sit  again. 

And  to  kiss  her  as  I  hold  her  soft  warm  hand. 
Then  to  listen  as  she  asks  me, 
With  a  smile  upon  her  face, 
"Dear,  now  tell  me,  aren't  you  proud  of  Dixie 
land?" 


165 


Poems     by     Theodore     Henry     Shackelford 

Give  me  back  those  happj  moments 

That  I  spent  when  by  her  side, 

And  to  that  dear  humble  cabin  let  me  go. 

By  the  moonlight  let  me  court  her, 

As  I  did  in  days  gone  by, 

As  I  sang  and  played  upon  my  old  banjo. 

Then  no  matter  what  the  future 

In  her  arms  for  me  might  hold, 

I  would  gladly  give,  and  would  not  count  it 

vain, 

If  but  only  for  the  ev'ning 
I  could  see  her  lovely  face, 
And  could  live  in  dear  old  Dixieland  again. 

But,  alas !  fate  wills  it  different, 

And  my  wishes  count  for  naught, 

Although  many  earthly  joys  have  come  to  me, 

She  is  gone  whom  once  I  cherished 

On  this  earth  the  very  most, 

And  her  loving  smile  again  I  shall  not  see. 

Nor  again  when  it  is  ev'ning, 

And  the  sun  is  sinking  low, 

By  her  gentle,  trusting  side  shall  I  e'er  stand. 

She  has  gone  to  where  the  flowers 

In  their  beauty  bloom  for  aye, 

For  she  sleeps  beneath  the  soil  of  Dixieland. 


156 


Poems     by     Theodore     Henry     Skackelford 

TO  BOOKER  T.  WASHINGTON 

And  thou,  O  Washington,  art  dead ! 

Thou  who  hast  done  so  much 
To  free  thy  people  from  the  taint 

Of  ignorance's  touch. 
A  message  too  of  hope  thou  brought 

To  those  whose  way  seemed  drear; 
Thou  didst  revive  their  fainting  souls, 

And  fill  their  hearts  with  cheer. 

Though  born  amidst  most  trying  times, 

Thou  upward  kept  thine  eyes ; 
And  strove  to  help  those  farthest  down, 

And  lead  them  to  the  prize. 
Discouraged  oft'  by  word  of  foe, 

And  e'en  by  word  of  friend ; 
Thou  still  kept  on,  nor  stopped  to  rest 

Till  thou  achieved  thine  end. 

A  school  thou  founded  in  the  south, 

Where  worthy  youth  might  come , 
And  be  prepared  both  for  this  life 

And  their  eternal  home. 
Nor  were  thy  noble  efforts  lost, 

Nor  sacrifices  vain, 
In  lifting  them  thou  placed  thyself 

Upon  a  higher  plane. 

A  source  of  inspiration  thou, 

To  many  souls  hast  been; 
For  thee  will  mourn  all  those  who  dwelt 

Tuskeegee's  walls  within. 
Nor  is  Tuskeegee  all  alone 

In  grieving  o'er  thy  loss, 
For  countless  multitudes  shall  grieve 

For  whom  thou  bore  the  cross. 


Poems     by     Theodore     Henry     Shackelford 

And  never  did  they  see  thee  once 

Stop  to  be-moan  thy  fate ; 
But  thou  dids't  strive  to  right  the  wrong 

By  toiling  soon  and  late. 
Thou  gave  thy  life  for  love  of  man, 

Enduring  grief  and  pain; 
And  now  we  know  that  our  loss 

Is  thy  unceasing  gain. 

And  did  I  say  that  thou  was't  dead  ? 

I  mean,  thou  art  at  rest; 
Thou  dwellest  in  that  happy  land 

Prepared  just  for  the  blest. 
As  long  as  Tuskeegee  shall  stand 

Her  noble  place  to  fill, 
As  long  as  men  shall  praise  her  name, 

Shalt  thou  be  living  still. 


DAT  LITTLE  ROOM  OB  MINE 

When  de  worl*  seems  blue  an*  lonesome, 

'Cause  my  friends  has  turned  me  down ; 
When  I  seek  faw  words  ob  comfort, 

But  instid  I  git  a  frown ; 
I  don't  waste  no  time  a  foolin', 

But  I  take  it  faw  a  sign, 
Dat  it's  time  dat  I  was  movin' 

T'wa'ds  dat  little  room  ob  mine. 

Dough  my  heaht  is  almos'  breakin', 
Still  I  straightens  up  my  lip; 

An'  decides  dat  on  dis  life,  suh, 
I  will  take  a  tightah  grip. 


168 


Poems     by     Theodore     Henry     Shackclford 

Den  I  heah  de  bees  a  hummin' 

In  de  honey-suckle  vine 
Dat  am  growin'  roun'  de  window 

Ob  dat  little  room  ob  mine. 

Den  de  conahs  an'  de  bah  rooms, 

Dey  don't  hoi'  no  cha'm  foh  me ; 
'Cause  dat  little  room  whaih  I  live 

Is  as  cheerful  as  kin  be. 
It's  my  palace  an'  my  kingdom, 

An'  it  sho'  is  mighty  fine, 
Faw  to  know  I  rules  supremely, 

In  dat  little  room  ob  mine. 

It  is  quiet  when  I  want  it, 

Aw  it's  full  ob  life  so  gay; 
I  can  sing  an'  I  can  whistle 

'Till  I  drive  my  troubles  'way. 
I  don't  know  no  othah  place,  suh, 

Whaih  I'll  sich  a  welcome  fin', 
As  I  do  when  I  am  sittin', 

In  dat  little  room  ob  mine. 

I  don't  want  no  grand  planner, 

I  don't  want  no  gramerphone, 
When  Ise  got  a  good  ole  banjo, 

An'  it's  all  my  very  own. 
I  can  play  it  in  de  evenin', 

When  de  moon  begins  to  shine, 
An'  dey'll  be  no  one  to  stop  me, 

In  dat  little  room  ob  mine. 

An'  I  keeps  de  daily  papers 

An'  some  books  upon  a  shelf; 
On  de  wall  Ise  got  some  pichters, 

An'  I  painted  'em  myself. 


169 


Poomi     by     Theodore     Henry     Shackclford 

Talk  about  yo'  schools  ob  learning 

An'  yo'  colleges  so  fine ; 
I  can  git  mo'e  eddercation 

In  dat  little  room  ob  mine. 

I   don't  min'  de  summah   weathah, 

When  de  days  am  long  an1  hot; 
'Cause  when  I  gits  to  dat  room,  suh, 

All  my  troubles  is  fawgot. 
When  my  daily  wohk  is  ovah, 

'Fo'e  you  ax  me  whaih  Ise  gwine, 
You  can  figgah  dat  Ise  headin', 

Faw  dat  little  room  ob  mine. 

I  don't  min'  de  chilly  wintah, 

When  de  snow  is  on  de  groun', 
When  Ise  got  a  big  hot  fiah 

An'  daih's  comfort  all  aroun'. 
An'  I  know  de  Ian*  ob  glory 

Sholy  mus'  be  somepin  fine. 
If  it's  fixed  up  any  bettah 

Dan  dat  little  room  ob  mine. 


WHY  IS  IT? 

At  times  in  life  such  funny  things  I  see, 
Or  rather  they  are  mysteries  to  me; 
And  seeking  for  an  answer  as  I  go, 
I  strive,  in  vain,  to  learn  why  this  is  so. 

When  man  pours  forth  his  noblest  thoughts, 

men  list'. 

And  grudgingly  they  grant  that  he  exist; 
But  when  buffoonery  to  them  he  doth  give, 
Then  they  applaud,  demanding  that  he  live. 

170 


flock  around  her  feet. 


Poems     by     Theodore     Henry     Shackelford 


WHEN  MARIA  CALLS  THE  CHICKENS 

When  the  busy  day  is  done, 
And  the  slowly  sinking  sun 

Fades  from  view  out  in  the  rosy  tinted  west, 
Then  a  gentle  voice  I  hear, 
As  it  calls  out  sweet  and  clear, 

Ere  the  humble  village  folk  have  gone  to 

rest: 

Here  chickie,  chickie,  chickie,  chick! 
When  Maria  calls  the  chickens  home  to  roost. 

Then  from  far  across  the  hill, 
They  come  running  with  a  will, 

For  they  love  to  hear  that  pleasant  welcome 

sound. 

And  I  love  to  hear  it  too, 
So,  dear  friend,  I  know  would  you, 

Should  the  honor  fall  to  you  to  be  around. 
Here  chickie,  chickie,  chickie,  chick! 
When  Maria  calls  the  chickens  home  to  roost. 

And  they  flock  around  her  feet, 
In  their  eager  haste  to  eat, 

For  Maria  has  her  apron  full  of  grain 
And  she  throws  it  far  and  near 
And  they  seem  to  have  no  fear, 

As  her  young  and  cheerful  voice  rings  out 

again, 

Here  chickie,  chickie,  chickie,  chick! 
When  Maria  calls  the  chickens  home  to  roott. 


1T1 


Poems     by     Theodore     Henry     Shackelford 

And  they  peck  and  hunt  around, 
Until  ev'ry  grain  is  found, 

One  by  one  they  go  to  roost  then  for  the 

night, 

As  the  darkness  settles  down, 
O'er  the  quiet  sleepy  town  ; 

And  I  faintly  hear  her  in  the  fading  light ; 
Here  chickie,  chickie,  chickie,  chick ! 
When  Maria  calls  the  chickens  home  to  roost. 


START  TODAY 

Would  that  you  could  see  the  fortune, 

That  is  lying  at  your  door; 
Would  that  I  could  make  you  grasp  it, 

But  you,  heedless,  pass  it  o'er; 
And  that  fortune  is  "the  present," 

And  how  fast  it  flies  away! 
For  'tis  made  of  golden  minutes 

Oh,  how  priceless  is  "today!" 

Those  who  dwell  amid  vain  pleasures, 
Wasting  minutes,  days  and  years ; 

Drifting  backward  in  life's  struggle, 

Find  tomorrow  filled  with  tears. 

Those  who  reap  the  greatest  blessings, 
Those  who  conquer  in  the  fray; 

And  who  reach  the  goal  tomorrow, 
Are  the  ones  who  start  today. 

Cease  to  waste  these  precious  minutes 

In  frivolities  and  strife, 
Lest  you  multiply  your  sorrow 

In  the  autumn  of  your  life ; 


172 


Poems     by     Theodore     Henry     Shackelford 

Start  today  and  face  the  problem, 
Wait  not  'till  tomorrow  comes, 

Lest  you  find  you've  missed  the  banquet 
And  have  nothing  left  but  crumbs. 

He  who  on  the  wharf  lies  sleeping, 

"Waiting  'till  his  ship  comes  in," 
Often  finds  when  he  awakens 

That  it  has  already  been; 
Oh,  the  world  would  know  no  paupers, 

Prisons  then  could  not  exist, 
If  the  crime,  of  wasting  minutes, 

Men  and  women  would  resist! 

Could  you  realize  the  danger 

Which  accompanies  the  shirk, 
You  would  cease  procrastinating, 

And  would  now  start  in  to  work 
At  the  task  which  lies  before  you; 

And  no  longer  would  you  say, 
"I'll  do  thus  and  so  tomorrow," 

You  instead  would  start  today. 


DESPONDENT 

Bless  my  soul  daihs  no  mo'e  'ligion 
In  de  sinful  heahts  ob  men, 

Judgin'  from  de  awful  wicked  tings  dey  do. 
By  de  strong  de  weak  is  'flicted 
Until  dey  can  skaisly  stan' 

An*  daihs  no  one  hyeah  to  tell  yo'  troubles  to. 

Faw  de  law  is  tuhned  an'  twisted 
Till  it  can't  be  understood, 

Lessen  you  has  got  a  million  in  de  bank. 


173 


Potmt     by     Thtodort     Henry     Shackclford 

An*  you  won't  git  no  attention 
When  you  go  to  seek  faw  help 

'Cept  you's  some  big  politician  aw  a  crank. 

Now  de  Negro  made  dis  country 
Just  exactly  what  it  is, 

When  a  slave  two  hundred  yeahs  aw  mo'e 

staid. 

Den  along  comes  all  dese  ailyuns, 
An'  dey  try  daih  level  best 

Faw  to  run  him  from  de  country  he  has 
made. 

Once  de  Negro  done  de  farmin' 
An'  de  blackin'  ob  de  boots, 

An*  de  cleanin'  ob  de  offices,  you  know; 
But  in  every  place  you  go  now 
Daihs  some  furriner  stuck  in, 

An*  de  cullahd  man  don't  git  no  soht  o'  show. 

Daihs  no  use  to  go  down  Souf  dough, 
'Cross  de  Mason,  Dixon  line, 

'Cause  you'll  fin'  out  life  down  daih  ain't  so 

much  fun. 

Daih  dey  chuck  de  cullahd  people 
In  a  filthy  "jim  crow"  cah, 

An'   insult   de   wimmen   folks   an'   nothin's 
done. 

An'  a  nasty,  hateful  train  crew 
Den  will  come  a  walkin'  in, 

An'  while  women  stan'  dey'll  sit  upon  one 

seat; 

An'  dey'll  use  de  wusted  language, 
An*  dey'll  spit  tobaccer  juice, 

An'  dey'll  occupy  de  othah  wid  daih  feet. 

1T4 


Poemi     by     Theodore     Henry     Shackclford 

An*  de  men  we's  put  in  Congress 
An*  what's  made  sich  solemn  vows, 

Why  dey  says  dat  dey  don't  tink  it's  no  dis 
grace. 

Now  I  wondah  how  dey'd  like  it 
If  daih  sistahs,  an*  daih  wives 

An*   daih   mothahs   had  to  ride   in   sich   a 
place? 

I'se  not  pleadin'  faw  myself  dough, 
Faw  my  work  is  almos'  done, 

An'  I  seems  to  hyeah  my  mothah  callin1  me, 
But  I'se  pleadin'  faw  my  people 
What  will  still  be  hyeah  on  earth 

When  dat  angel  mothah's  face  I'se  gone  to 
see. 


SONNET. 

O,  God,  to  Thee  I  come  to-day, 

And  with  true  repentance  kneeling. 
The  while  I  bend  my  knee  to  pray, 

The  tears  from  mine  eyes  are  stealing. 
But  for  Thy  grace  lost  would  I  be, 

Or  ship-wrecked  on  life's  hidden  shoals, 
Or  left  to  drift  upon  that  sea 

Where  dwelleth  all  earth's  derelict  souls. 
But  Thou  didst  free  from  all  alarms 

And  shield  me  from  the  tempter's  power; 
Thou  broke  the  shackles  from  my  arms 

And  Thou  didst  cheer  my  darkest  hour. 
Thou  hast  supplied  my  every  need, 

And  made  me  free,  and  free  indeed. 


175 


Poems     by     Theodore     Henry     Shackclford 
ON  THE  CAFE  CAR 


When  you're  tired  of  the  city, 

And  you  want  to  get  a  job, 
That  will  thrill  your  tired  body 

Till  your  heart  will  fairly  throb ; 
Where  the  linen  all  is  spotless, 

And  the  silver  clean  and  bright, 
And  where  flowers  deck  the  table, 

And  there's  gas  to  make  it  light — 
Get  a  cafe  car. 

Then  a  fellow  feels  like  working, 

If  he  gets  a  decent  run; 
And  you  meet  all  kinds  of  people, 

And  it  sure  is  lots  of  fun. 
And  there's  something  most  poetic, 

When  at  last  the  meal  is  through, 
And  you  sit  beside  the  window, 

Having  nothing  else  to  do; 
On  the  cafe  car. 

And  there's  music  in  the  car  wheels, 

As  they  hum  along  the  rails, 
There  is  also  rhyme  and  rhythm, 

As  their  song  your  ear  assails. 
And  you  gaze  with  rapt  attention, 

As  the  rocks  and  trees  rush  by, 
Or  you  look  across  the  prairies, 

Till  they  seem  to  meet  the  sky; 
On  the  cafe  car. 

Now  you  crawl  out  on  a  trestle, 
Kinder  cautious  like  and  slow; 

There  is  only  air  about  you, 
And  a  tiny  stream  below. 


Poems     by     Theodora     Henry     Shackclford 

Then  you  plunge  into  a  tunnel, 
Where  it  gets  as  dark  as  night; 

And  it  happens  all  so  sudden 
You  forget  to  make  a  light; 
On  the  cafe  car. 

Now  you  wind  along  a  river, 

Or  a  canyon  deep  and  wide; 
Now  you  see  some  snow-capped  mountain, 

Now  into  the  station  glide. 
Then  you  go  out  on  a  special, 

And  you  stay  a  week  or  two, 
And  you  see  some  "sure  nuff  cowboys," 

And  "some  real  red  Injuns,"  too; 
On  the  cafe  car. 

Coming  back  your  car  will  "dead-head," 

For  perhaps  a  quite  a  space ; 
And  you  rear  back  in  the  parlor, 

Just  as  if  you  owned  the  place. 
Then  there  comes  a  great  big  picnic, 

Or  perhaps  a  holiday, 
And  out  from  the  crowded  city, 

Lots  of  folks  will  go  away; 
On  the  cafe  car. 

Soon  the  dining  room  is  crowded, 

Just  as  tight  as  it  can  be, 
And  you  try  to  keep  your  bearings, 

But  you  soon  go  up  a  tree ; 
Some  old  maid  says,  "please,  some  butter,1* 

Some  old  bach.  "I  want  a  drink," 
Five  or  six  call,  "Waiter,  waiter"; 

And  no  longer  can  you  think, 
On  the  cafe  car. 


177 


Poems     by     Theodore     Henry     Shackelford 

Then  you  see  some  farmer  trav'ling 

For  the  first  time  in  his  life; 
He  will  order  something  fancy, 

And  will  eat  it  with  his  knife. 
Then  the  passengers  around  him 

On  the  floor  will  almost  roll, 
As  they  see  him  drink  the  water 

Poured  out  in  the  finger  bowl; 
On  the  cafe  car. 

Then  you  get  four  in  a  party, 

Just  about  the  last  of  all; 
The  mother  she  is  short  and  fat, 

And  the  husband  lank  and  tall, 
The  kids  are  strange  and  gawky-like, 

And  are  still  more  strangely  dressed; 
The  mother  all  the  questions  asks; 

And  she  orders  for  the  rest ; 
On  the  cafe  car. 

"Say,  is  that  the  Frazer  River? 

And  the  Frazer  Mountain,  too? 
We  are  nearly  starving,  waiter; 

Won't  you  rush  our  order  through? 
You  can  bring  me  in,  please,  waiter, 

Just  one  big,  brown  Sally  Lunn. 
Let  me  see  now,  for  my  daughter. 

Almost  any  kind  of  bun"; 
On  the  cafe  car. 

"You  can  bring  my  little  man,  here, 
Just  one  good  crisp  piece  of  toast; 

And  a  lamb  chop  for  my  husband. 
Dear,  oh,  dear,  it  seems  I'll  roast" ; 

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Poemi     by     Theodore     Henry     Shack^lford 

And  the  kids  they  sniggle,  giggle, 
And  they  squirm  and  twist  around. 

And  the  old  man  acts  right  hen-pecked, 
And  he  jumps  at  every  sound; 
On  the  cafe  car. 

"Bring  us  one  small  pot  of  coffee, 

And  some  water  in  a  pot, 
And  four  cups  to  serve  it  in,  please; 

And  be  sure  the  water's  hot. 
I  guess  that's  about  all,  thank  you. 

Now,  please,  waiter,  don't  be  long, 
All  of  us  are  nearly  starving, 

Have  the  coffee  good  and  strong" ; 
On  the  cafe  car. 

You  go  out  and  get  the  order, 

And  you  come  back  on  the  run; 
For  you  know  that  she  will  tip  you, 

When  your  duty  you  have  done. 
But  when  they  have  finished  eating 

To  your  feelings  you  give  vent, 
You  have  served  some  twenty  people, 

But  you  haven't  made  a  cent; 
On  the  cafe  car. 


TO  DR.  WILLIAM  A.  CREDITT 

I  have  no  old  acquaintance, 

Nor  any  have  I  known, 
Whose  trials  have  been  greater, 

My  dear  friend,  than  thine  own ; 
Yet   no   more   Christlike   spirit 

Would  I  dare  ask  to  see; 
A  source  of  inspiration 

Thy  life  has  been  to  me. 


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Poems     by     Theodore     Henry     Shackelford 

Though  tempted  and  discouraged, 

Let  not  all  hope  be  gone. 
This  is  the  darkest  hour, 

Which  just  precedes  the  dawn. 
That  school  for  which  thou  livest 

Shall  yet  go  marching  forth, 
And  men  shall  love  and  hail  it 

"Tuskeegee  of  the  North." 

No  mark  of  His  displeasure 

Doth  trials  always  show, 
Those  whom  God  blessed  most  largely 

Did  oft'  most  troubles  know. 

For  Job  lost  all  his  cattle, 

And  all  his  earthly  store 
And  then  with  boils  was  covered 

Till  he  grew  sick  and  sore? 

But  God,  when  Job  still  trusted, 

His  every  effort  blest. 
He  multiplied  his  riches 

And  gave  him  peace  and  rest. 

So  be  thou  not  discouraged, 

Though  burdened  down  with  care ; 
Thou  still  hast  friends  around  thee 

Who  will  thy  trials  share. 

That  heart  that  feels  most  anguish 

Most  sympathy  can  show; 
And  he  can  give  most  comfort 

Who  doth  most  sorrow  know. 
Good  men  through  all  the  ages 

For  right  have  bled  and  died; 
The  Savior's  life  was  perfect, 

Yet  he  was  crucified ! 


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Poemt     by     Theodore     Henry     Shackelford 

Thou  canst  not  win  earth's  praises 

Except  thou  stand  its  scorns; 
Nor  canst  thou  gather  roses 

And  not  be  pricked  by  thorns. 
The  master  of  musicians 

Ne'er  plays  his  sweetest  strain 
Till  grief  and  disappointment 

Have  rent  his  soul  in  twain. 

The  flowers  bloom  most  lovely 

When  thunders  loudly  roll. 
The  poet  sings  his  sweetest 

When  sorrows  fill  his  soul. 
The  storm  out  on  the  ocean 

Doth  make  us  love  the  calm; 
The  heart  most  often  wounded 

Doth  know  the  sweetest  balm. 


THY  CALLING 


If  thou  shouldst  have  a  mission  in  this  life, 
A  something  which  thou  feelest  thou  must 

do, 

Be  not  too  quick  to  tell  the  world  thy  plan, 
But  first  make  sure  thy  cause  be  just  and 

true. 

And  when  by  careful  study,  too,  and  prayer 
Thou  hast  convinced  thyself  that  thou  art 

right, 

Then  never  let  that  vision  fade  from  view, 
But  to  attain  it  strive  with  all  thy  might. 

in 


Poems  by  Theodore  Henry  Shackelford 

And  should  a  doubting  horde  deride  and  frown, 

Or  at  thy  failure  clap  their  hands  with  glee, 

Straight  up  and  to  the  front  hold  thou  thy 

head, 
And  close  thine  ears,  nor  use  thine  eyes  to 

see. 
But  if  some  loving  friend  thy  praise  should 

sing, 

Let  not  thy  heart  be  overfilled  with  pride ; 
But  bow  thy  head  with  meekness  and  with 

fear, 
Lest  some  faint  trace  of  vanity  abide. 

For  when  the  heart  of  man  becometh  vain, 

Disaster  soon  doth  follow  in  his  wake; 
But  meekness  is  a  rock  that  sinketh  deep, 

Which  all  the  hosts  of  Satan  cannot  shake. 
To  thine  appointed  calling  then  be  true, 

And  on  the  star  of  hope  hold  fast  thine  eyes, 
And  know  that  thou  canst  conquer  jf  thou  wilt, 

Then  shalt  thou  almost  surely  gain  the  prize. 

i 
But  shouldst  by  some  sad  chance  thou  fail, 

And  fall  sore  wounded  in  life's  constant  fray, 
Cringe  not,  as  would  a  cur  beneath  the  lash, 

Nor   to   the   foeman's  blackest  threat  give 

way! 
But  dare  to  let  him  see,  though  all  be  o'er, 

That  still  thy  soul   doth  cling  to  what  is 

right ! 
Then  may  thou  close  thine  eyes  and  rest  in 

peace. 
I4  or  truly  thou  hast  won  a  noble  fight. 


182 


Poems     by     Theodore     Henry     Shackclford 


DOWN  WITH  THE  DIVER 

Come  where  the  waves  on  the  ocean  toss  high ; 
Come  where  the  deep  waters  silently  lie; 
Come  where  the  strange  looking  animals  creep, 
Down  with  the  diver,  down  in  the  deep. 

Over  the  side  of  the  vessel  he  goes, 

Meeting  with  dangers    which    none    but    he 

knows ; 

Down  by  some  coral  reef,  jagged  and  steep, 
Down  with  the  diver,  down  in  the  deep. 

Down    where    the    sea-monsters,    slimy    and 

fierce, 

Struggle,  his  helmet  and  air-line  to  pierce; 
Where  glowing  eyes  from  the  dark  caverns 

peep, 
Down  with  the  diver,  down  in  the  deep. 

Down  where  the  shark  and  the  devil  fish  play ; 
Down  where  the  hulks  of  the  derelict  ships 

stay; 

Down  where  the  mermaids  all  gather  to  weep, 
Down  with  the  diver,  down  in  the  deep. 

Down  where  the  coffers  of  rich  treasures  lie, 
Where  pirates  sank  them  in  ages  gone  by; 
Where  weary  spirits  their  long  watches  keep, 
Down  with  the  diver,  down  in  the  deep. 

Where    mystic    shadows    spread    on    the    sea 

floor, 

Down  in  some  place  which  he  knew  not  before; 
Down  where  the  sailors  of  past  ages  sleep, 
Down  with  the  diver,  down  in  the  deep. 

183 


Po«ms     by     Theodore     Henry     Shackelford 

WON'T  YOU  PLEASE  COME  BACK 
AGAIN? 


When  the  sun  sinks  low  at  the  gay  seashore, 

And  the  children  quit  their  play, 
And  they  leave  the  beach,  and  their  forts  of 
sand, 

Then  until  another  day. 

And  the  crowds  grow  thick  on  the  great  board 
walk, 

And  a  stream  of  chairs  roll  by. 
And  the  piers  are  white  in  a  blaze  of  light, 

And  the  ev'ning  breezes  sigh. 

Though  the  lovers  sit  until  late  at  night, 

And  they  spoon  upon  the  sands; 
And  the  breezes  waft  to  their  listening  ears 

The  sweet  music  of  the  bands, 
And  the  moonbeams  dance  with  their  silvery 
feet, 

There  upon  the  rippling  sea. 
And,  though  all  the  world  seems  so  bright  and 
gay, 

There  is  still  no  joy  for  me. 

Then   my  thoughts  to  you,   like   the   rolling 
chairs, 

In  a  constant  stream  do  flow. 
And  I  live  once  more  in  those  happy  days, 

Which  now  seem  so  long  ago; 
And  my  soul  cries  out  for  the  Sight  of  you, 

And  my  heart  is  filled  with  pain, 
And  I  long  to  hold  you  within  my  arms ; 

Won't  you  please  come  back  again? 

184 


Poems     by     Theodore     Henry     Shackelford 


A  LITTLE  CHILD  SHALL  LEAD  THEM 


It  was  on  a  Sunday  ev'ning 

As  he  paused  before  the  door 
Of  the  church  upon  the  corner, 

Just  a  drunkard,  ragged,  poor. 
Now  he  hears  the  call  to  service, 

As  the  chimes  the  sexton  rings; 
And  a  welcome  invitation 

Unto  all  their  music  brings. 

Now  the  crowds  go  in  to  worship, 

And  they  see  him  standing  there. 
While  some  pass  him  by  unnoticed, 

Others  for  him  breathe  a  prayer : 
Now  there  comes  a  solemn  youngster, 

With  a  step  so  staid  and  slow. 
First  he  pauses  near  the  other, 

Then  walks  up  and  whispers  low : 

"Mister,  please,  are  you  a  Chriatian?" 

And  the  drunkard's  bleary  eyes 
For  a  moment  flash  with  anger, 

Then  the  look  turns  to  surprise, 
Still  no  word  has  he  yet  uttered, 

For  his  heart  is  filled  with  woe; 
But  the  child  waits  for  an  answer, 

So  he  sadly  answers,  "No." 


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Poems     by     Theodore     Henry     Shackelford 

Now  the  sexton  ceases  pulling, 

And  the  bells  no  longer  ring; 
But  the  choir  has  arisen, 

And  it  sweetly  starts  to  sing. 
"Must  I  go,  and  empty-handed, 

Must  I  meet  my  Savior  so? 
Not  one  soul  with  which  to  greet  him, 

Must  I  empty-handed  go?" 

And  the  man  becomes  convicted ; 

In  his  soul  is  waged  a  fight 
As  two  spirits  strive  for  power; 

One  is  wrong,  the  other  right. 
Said  the  child,  "I'd  be  so  happy 

Could  I  win  one  soul  today; 
Mister,  please,  oh,  don't  refuse  me, 

Won't  you  come  inside  and  pray?" 

As  the  drunkard  hears  him  pleading 

Back  to  childhood  runs  his  mind; 
When  around  a  loving  mother 

His  young  arms  were  once   entwined. 
Now  he  sees  her,  old  and  feeble, 

Waiting  for  him  day  by  day; 
While  he  breaks  her  heart  by  sinning 

And  by  wand'ring  far  away. 

Now  the  congregation  rises, 

Ev'ry   person  present  sings 
And  the  youngster  joins  in  with  them; 

Sweet  and  clear  his  young  voice  rings, 
"Not  at  death  I  shrink  or  falter, 

For  my  Savior  saves   me   now; 
But  to  meet  him  empty-handed 

Thought  of  that  now  clouds  my  brow." 

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Poems     by     Theodore     Henry     Shackelford 

And  that  stony  heart  is  broken, 

And  the  man  cannot  refuse, 
So  he  lets  the  youngster  lead  him, 

And  decides  the  good  to  choose. 
And  they  slowly  walk  together 

Down  the  center  of  the  aisle. 
Through  the  church  there  runs  a  whisper, 

Here  and  there  appears  a  smile. 

Said  the  preacher,  hand  uplifted, 

"I  have  just  a  word  to  say. 
Would  that  we  had  more  young  Christians, 

Let  us  bow  our  heads  and  pray." 
And  the  drunkard  came  to  Jesus, 

And  forsook  his  ways  so  wild; 
Rescued  from  the  downward  journey 

By  the  pleading  of  a  child. 


SINCE  BUB'S   GONE  AWAY 

Ev'ry  one  is  sad  an'  weary, 

Days  don't  seem  so  wahm  an'  bright, 
Pains  my  heart  to  look  at  mammy 

By  de  empty  crib  at  night. 

Faw  my  little  bruthah's  lef  us, 
Gone  up  in  de  skies  to  dwell, 

Life  faw  me  ain't  wuth  de  livin' 
Hu'ts  me  mo'e  dan  words  can  tell. 

Neighbo's  boys  don't  come  so  often, 
When  dey  do  dey  don't  stay  long, 

Mammy  nevah  sings  no  mo'e  now, 
Hasn't  got  de  heaht  faw  song. 

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Poemi     by     Theodore     Henry     Shackelford 

Since  my  little  bruthah's  lef'  us 

Fido,  he  don't  romp  an'  play, 
Lays  beside  Bub's  little  wagon, 

Head  between  his  paws  all  day. 

Wasn't  dat  a  awful  pity? 

Only  bruthah  dat  I  had, 
An'  since  he  has  gone  to  heaven 

Pap  an'  mammy  bofe  is  sad. 

Chickens,  too,  is  dull  an'  sleepy, 

Got  so  dey  don't  even  lay. 
Bub  ain't  hyeah  you  know  to  feed  'em 

Half  a  dozen  times  a  day. 

An'  since  he  has  gone  an'  lef  us 

I  has  had  so  much  to  do, 
'Cause  I  has  to  do  my  own  work 

An'  besides  do  his'n  too. 

But  I  spose  'twill  soon  be  ovah, 
Mammy  says  dat  life  ain't  long, 

Some  day  we  will  go  to  meet  him, 
See  him  wid  de  angel  th'ong. 

'Wish  dat  it  would  be  tomorrow, 

I'm  tiahd  as  can  be, 
Ev'ry  t'ing  dat's  good  why  Bub  gits, 

Nuthin'  evah  comes  to  me. 

"I* 

Hyeah  Ise  got  to  worsh  de  dishes 

Jis'  cause  I  is  big  an*  strong, 
While  Bub  sits  up  daih  in  Heaven 

Eatin*  honey  all  day  long. 

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An'  you  see  dat  tu'key  gobblah. 


Poems  by  Theodore  Henry  Shackelford 


WHEN  DADDY  HOL'S  YO'  HAN' 

Dough  you  may  be  jis  a  youngstah 

Dat  is  almos'  'fraid  to  talk; 
An*  so  small  an'  weak  an'  timid 

Dat  you  jis  can  baihly  walk, 
Daih  is  boun'  to  come  a  time,  when  you 

Will  feel  you  is  a  man, 
An'  it's  when  you's  wid  yo'  daddy 

An'  he  hoi's  you  by  de  han'. 

Den  temptations  an'  vexations, 

Seems  to  vanish  at  de  sight 
Ob  you  when  you's  wid  yo'  daddy, 

An'  to  trimble  at  yo'  might. 
An'  it  seems  so  strange  an*  culiah, 

Dat  you  jis  can't  undahstan' 
Whaih  dat  awful  powah  comes  from, 

When  yo'  daddy  hoi's  yo'  han'  1 

You  can  go  down  in  de  cellah 

Whaih  it's  jis  as  black  as  pitch, 
Fin'  yo'  way  in  all  de  conahs 

An'  come  out  wid  out  a  hitch. 
Bring  de  taters  up  faw  suppah 

In  yo'  mammy's  bakin'  pan. 
If  yo'  daddy  goes  down  wid  you, 

An'  will  hoi'  you  by  de  han'l 


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Poems     by     Theodore     Henry     Shackeltord 

Den  de  dahkest  nights  ob  wintah 

Seems  as  cleah  an'  bright  as  spring, 
When  de  days  am  wahm  an'  sunny; 

An'  you  hyeah  de  robins  sing, 
An'  de  spooks  an'  ghostes  vanish; 

When  beside  yo'  dad  you  stan' 
If  he  only  will  be  keerful 

Faw  to  hoi'  you  by  de  han'. 

Den  dat  great,  big,  ole  New  Foun'lan' 

Keeps  his  place  back  in  de  yahd; 
Don't  come  runnin'  out  to  skaih  you, 

An'  don't  wag  his  tail  so  hahd; 
He  is  skaihd  you'll  knock  him  ovah ; 

An'  he  knows  right  well  you  can, 
When  he  sees  you  wid  you'  daddy 

An'  he  hoi's  you  by  de  han'. 

Den  you  feels  jis  like  a  soljah 

Dat  am  ma'chin'  in  parade, 
When  de  ban's  am  jist  a  playin' 

An'  de  flags  am  all  displayed. 
An'  de  crowds  am  wildly  cheerin' 

As  along  de  line  dey  stan' 
When  you  goes  out  wid  yo'  daddy 

An'  he  hoi's  you  by  de  han'. 

But  yo'  dad  ain't  always  wid  you ; 

He  ain't  got  de  time  to  fool, 
An'  you  see  dat  tu'key  gobblah, 

When  you's  on  yo'  way  to  school. 
Laws  a  Mussey!  den  sich  runnin1 

An'  a  kickin'  up  de  san', 
When  yo'  daddy's  not  beside  you 

Faw  to  hoi'  you  by  de  han'. 

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Poems     by     Theodore     Henry     Shackelford 

But  as  soon  as  you  has  passed  him 

Den  you  slows  down  to  a  walk 
An'  you  looks  back  at  de  tu'key, 

An*  like  dis  you  stahts  to  talk. 
"I  could  chase  a  thousan'  gobblahs 

An'  could  run  'em  off  de  Ian' 
If  my  daddy  jis  was  wid  me 

Faw  to  hoi'  me  by  de  han'." 


MY  MOTHER 

What  friend  on  earth  do  I  love  best, 
Whose  light  shines  far  above  the  rest, 
And  who  my  whole  long  life  has  blest? 
My  mother. 

Who,  when  I  was  a  little  lad 
And  played  some  prank  or  acted  bad 
Would  whip  me  though  it  made  her  sad? 
My  mother. 

Who  told  me  of  the  golden  rule, 
And  then  to  see  I  should  not  fool 
Would  lead  me  off  to  Sunday  school? 
My  mother. 

While  at  her  knee  I  bowed  my  head 
Who  listened  while  my  prayers  I  said, 
And  then  would  tuck  me  safe  in  bed? 
My  mother. 

Who  when  she  thought  I  was  asleep 
Back  to  my  cot  would  gently  creep, 
And  pray  the  Lord  her  boy  to  keep? 
My  mother. 

191 


Poemt     by     Theodora     Henry     Shack«lford 

Who  in  those  grim,  dark  days  of  yore, 
Oft*  toiled  'till  heart  and  hands  grew  sore, 
The  wolf  to  keep  back  from  the  door? 
My  mother. 

And  often  in  some  troubled  place 

Who, — while  the  tears  streamed  down  her 

face, — 

With  prayers  besieged  a  throne  of  grace? 
My  mother. 

Who  shields  me  now  from  every  woe, 
And  still  seems  near  where  e'er  I  go, 
And  makes  me  try  and  walk  just  so? 
My  mother. 


PO'  GRAN'PAP 

De  possums  got  so  bad  one  fall 

Dey  'stroyed  mos'  all  de  co'n ; 

An'  possum  hunts  was  reglar  den, 

From  sunset  until  dawn. 

An'  gran'pap  used  to  axe  my  paw 

To  let  him  go  along; 

But  paw,  an*  Uncle  John,  an'  Pete 

All  said  he  wasn't  strong. 

Dey  said  he  better  stay  at  home 

An'  talk  to  Bub  an'  me ; 

Now  Bub  was  Gran'pap's  favorite, 

So  he  sot  on  his  knee. 

An'  one  night  Bub  he  begged  my  paw 

To  please  let  gran'pap  go 

An'  cried  so  hahd  dat  paw  and  'cm 

Jus'  couldn't  tell  him  no. 


192 


Poems     by     Theodore     Henry     Shackelford 

An'  so  dey  tuhned  de  houn's  all  loose, 

An'  shouldered  up  daih  load, 

Dey  took  a  gun,  a  axe,  an'  saw, 

An'  went  on  down  de  road. 

'Bout  five  miles  out  de  dogs  commenced 

A  bayin'  in  de  brush, 

An'  to  a  great  big  holler  log 

Dey  come  up  wid  a  rush. 

An'  paw,  an'  Uncle  John,  an'  Pete 

Said  "Dats  a  possum  sho ; 

I  guess  we'll  hab  to  smoke  him  out, 

Dats  all  de  way  I  know." 

Dey  gathered  leaves,  an'  sticks,  an1  stuff 

An'  filled  dat  log  wid  smoke, 

Den  held  a  bag  across  de  hole 

An'  all  laughed  at  de  joke. 

When  dey  had  waited  quite  a  while 
But  still  no  possum  come 
Gran'pap  said  "  'Less  he  hurries  up 
I'll  be  a  goin'  home." 
Jus'  den  dat  tree  got  full  ob  noise, 
Ob  growls,  an'  screeches  loud, 
A  wil'  cat  busted  thoo  dat  bag 
An'  out  into  de  crowd! 

Well  paw,  an'  Uncle  John,  an*  Pete 

Fawgot  about  de  gun; 

Dey  saw  de  houn's  was  leavin'  too, 

So  dey  commenced  to  run. 

De  way  dey  run  dat  night,  paw  said, 

It  sholy  was  a  sin; 

Dat  wil'  cat  stood  no  show  wid  dem 

Dey  nachly  split  de  win*. 

193 


Poomt     by     Theodore     Henry     Shackelford 

Dey  come  a  tearin'  down  de  road 

An'  thoo  de  cabin  do'; 

An'  Uncle  Pete  was  almos'  gone 

He  fell  out  on  de  flo'. 

An*  ev'ry  one  was  skaihd  to  death 

An*  wondered  what  to  do, 

Till  mammy  brought  huh  camphor  oil, 

An'  dat  soon  brought  him  to. 

Jus'  den  my  paw  he  looked  aroun* 

His  eyes  was  wide  wid  fright, 

He  said  "I  wish  we'd  staid  at  home 

An'  not  went  out  tonight. 

Because  po'  gran'pap,  Oh,  my  Lawd, 

We  lef  him  daih  alone! 

Suppose  dat  wil'  cat  eats  him  up?" 

Den  all  commenced  to  groan. 

An'  Uncle  John  said  "Le's  go  back 

An'  hunt  him  right  away," 

But  Uncle  Pete  sot  up  an*  said, 

"We  better  wait  till  day." 

An'  den  my  bruthah  Bub  stepped  out, 

His  face  was  filled  wid  frowns, 

He  said  "Why  gran'pap's  fas'  asleep, 

He  come  in  wid  de  houn's." 


194 


Poems     by     Theodore     Henry     Shackelford 

DAT  OLE-TIME  RELIGION 

My!  ev'ry  t'ing  seems  new  and  strange 

In  dis  heah  mode'n  day, 
An*  all  de  ole-time  lan'ma'ks,  too, 

Has  done  and  passed  away; 
De  meetin'  house  upon  de  hill, 

Whaih  mammy  use'  to  go, 
Has  been  to'e  down  an*  in  its  place 

A  new  one  built,  you  know. 

But  us  old  folks  what's  Kvin'  now, 

To  res'  will  all  be  laid : 
An*  some  one  else  ouah  places  fill 

Befo'e  de  debt  is  paid. 
Dey's  got  a  big  pipe-o'gan  daih, 

An'  ca'pets  on  de  floo' ; 
An'  cushions  is  on  ev'ry  seat 

From  pulpit  to  de  doo'. 

Yes,  I  must  say,  it  was  a  shame 

Dat  ole  chu'ch  to  destroy; 
My  mammy  took  me  daih  wid  huh 

When  I  was  jis  a  boy. 
Aldough,  besides  de  leaky  roof, 

De  floo'  was  kind  o'  rough ; 
As  long  as  it  was  free  from  debt 

I  t'ink  'twas  good  enaugh. 

An'  we  had  such  good  meetin's  daih ; 

Dey  was  jis  plain  an'  straight, 
But,  seein'  all  de  good  dey  done, 

I  t'ink  dat  dey  was  great; 
De  preachah  he  would  often  say 

A  kindly  word  faw  some, 
An'  othahs  wa'n,  wid  haste  to  flee 

From  dat  fierce  wrath  to  come. 


195 


Poems    by     Theodore     Henry    Shackelford 

An'  how  I  loved  to  heah  him  pray, 

Faw  nothin'  he  would  miss; 
When  he  had  ev'ry  blessin'  sought 

He'd  end  up  'bout  like  dis: 
"Oh,  Lawd,  do  please  stan'  by  us  as 

We  draw  dis  fleeting  breath, 
An'  'ceive  ouah  blood-bought  spirits  when 

Ouah  eyes  have  closed  in  death." 

De  congregation  den  would  staht 

To  sing  dis  good  old  hymn, 
Dat  seemed  to  reach  de  th'one  ob  God, 

As  all  would  sing  wid  vim: 
"Mus'  Jesus  beah  de  cross  alone, 

An*  all  the  worl'  go  free? 
No,  daih's  a  cross  faw  ev'ry  one, 

An'  daihs  a  cross  faw  meP* 

Anf  as  dey  sung,  dat  melody 

Into  my  heaht  would  sink; 
An'  O  de  sweetness  which  my 

From  dis  las'  verse  would  drink: 
"O  glorious  cross,  O  precious  Crown, 

O  ressurecshun  day, 
De  angels  from  de  stars  come  down 

An'  beah  my  soul  away." 

Daih  wa'nt  no  big  pipe-o'gans  den, 

Daih  wa'nt  no  fashions  new, 
Daih  wa'nt  no  ca'pets  on  de  floo', 

Naw  cushions  in  de  pew. 
But  what  was  mo'e  de  grace  ob  God 

Was  in  de  heahts  ob  men, 
An'  people  went  to  chu'ch  an'  prayed 

An'  got  religion  den. 

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Poems     by     Theodore     Henry     Shaekelford 

But  t'ings  has  changed  in  dat  new  chu'ch ; 

It  seems  so  strange  an*  col'. 
An'  no  one  seems  to  worry  when 

A  lamb  strays  from  de  for. 
I  likes  dese  mode'n  chu'ches  dough, 

Faw  styles  I  loves  to  see; 
But  dat  ole-time  religion  still 

Is  good  enough  faw  me. 


WHEN  GRANNY'S  PEELIN1  APPLES 


Gee,  I'm  glad  that  it  is  winter, 

'Cause  I  know  I'll  have  some  fun 
Coastin'  on  the  hill  with  brother, 

When  our  home  work  all  is  done. 
We  can  also  visit  granny 

Almost  every  Saturday, 
And  if  we  are  good  she'll  let  us 

In  the  garret  go,  and  play. 

An'  I  love  to  visit  granny, 

'Cause  she  always  acts  so  nice, 

An'  when  you  are  eatin'  dinner 
She  will  always  help  you  twice; 

Always  makes  you  eat  a-plenty, 

Says,  "You  must  or  you  won't  grow." 

Now  I  wonder  why  that  grannies, 

More  than  mothers  seem  to  know. 


197 


Poems     by     Theodore     Henry     Shackelford 

Granny's  got  a  great  big  cat,  too, 

And  I  guess  he  stands  that  high; 
But  there's  something  strange  about  him, 

'Cause  he  won't  eat  apple  pie. 
Then  she's  got  the  cutest  pie  pans — 

Ain't  no  bigger  'round  than  this ; 
An'  she  always  fills  them  "special," 

Ev'ry  day  that  we  don't  miss. 

When  the  cellar  door  she  opens, 

Granny  down  the  steps  will  go, 
And  they  kinder  creak  beneath  her, 

As  she  treads  them  sure  and  slow. 
Though  she  tells  us  that  we  needn't, 

Right  behind  her  we  will  run; 
For  we  know  she's  after  apples, 

And  there  soon  will  be  some  fun. 

'Cause  when  granny's  peelin'  apples 

She  can  use  such  funny  terms; 
Says,  "you  mustn't  eat  the  peelin's 

Or  you'll  be  contractin'  germs." 
But  I  like  to  get  a  peelin' 

That  is  striped  with  red  an'  brown, 
An'  its  fun  to  hold  it  up,  so 

Then  just  kinder  eat  it  down. 

An'  when  granny's  peelin'  apples, 

If  we  act  right  good  an'  nice, 
She  will  take  a  nice,  big  ripe  one 

An'  will  cut  us  off  a  slice. 
An'  when  granny's  peelin'  apples 

There's  a  twinkle  in  her  eyes 
As  she  says,  "Go  play,  you  youngsters, 

Or  you'll  get  no  apple  pies." 

198 


Poemi     by     Theodore     Henry     Shackelford 


IN  SLAVERY  DAYS 

'Cindy  deah,  I  jes  was  settin'  hyeah  a  thinkin' 

Dat  Ise  had  a  many  blessin'  in  my  life, 
But  de  greatest  is  dat  I  is  still  a  livin' 

Faw  to  be  hyeah  at  de  side  of  my  deah  wife. 
If  you  look  back  at  de  dangers  we  has  come 

thoo, 

It's  a  myst'ry  dat  we's  bofe  alive  tonight; 
We  has  come  thoo  thick  an'  thin,  you  know, 

togethah, 

An'   at    times   de   way   was    ev'ryting   but 
bright. 

Co'se  we  had  de  bes'  ole  mastah  in  de  South 
Ian', 

An'  ole  mistis  she  was  nice  as  she  could  be, 
An'  daih  wa'n't  a  t'ing  upon  dat  whole  planta 
tion 

Dat  dey'd  hesitate  to  trust  wid  you  an'  me. 
But  de  mastahs  wasn't  all  as  kind  as  ouah's, 

An'  wid  pity  ouah  hearts  did  often  bleed 
At  de  cruel  way  de  othah  slaves  was  treated : 

Yes,  it  was  a  awful,  awful  shame  indeed. 

If  one  happened  not  to  pick  enough  ob  cotton 
Dey  would  beat  him  'till  de  blood  run  down 
his  back. 

If  he  tried  to  run  away  ferocious  bloodhoun's, 
Also  men  wid  guns  was  put  upon  his  track ! 

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Poems     by     Theodore  ^Henry     Shackelford 

An*  sometimes  he  would  be  caught  an'  to'e  to 

pieces, 

Aftah  he  had  run  'till  he  was  out  o'  breath! 
Aw  else  in  de  dismal  swamp  would  loose  his 

bearin's, 

An'  would  wandah  roun'  'till  he  had  stahved 
to  death. 

Often  husban's  from  daih  wives  was  separated ; 
An'  young  chillen  taken  from  daih  mothah's 

ahms, 

To  be  sol'  way  off  in  some  fah  distant  county, 
Whaih  dey  couldn't  no  mo'e  see  each  othah's 

cha'ms ! 

Den  you  know  the  Southe'n  States  become  re 
bellious, 
T'ings  seemed  jis  as  hopeless  den  as  dey 

could  be, 
Faw  de  slaves  was  often  fo'ced  to  help  daih 

mastahs 

Fight  against  de  side  dat  aimed  to  set  'em 
free. 

Yes,  dem  days  was  mighty  dahk  an'  mighty 

bittah, 
An'  de  briny  teahs  ouah  cheeks  did  often 

burn ; 
But  bofe  night  an'  day  we  sought  de  Lawd's 

assistance 
An'  at  las'  dat  "Lane  ob  Misery"  retched  its 

turn. 

Faw  Mas'  Lincoln  wouldn't  tolerate  no  foolin' 
An'  he  tole  dem  se'eded  States  like  dis,  said 

he— 

"Now  if  you  all  don't  come  back  into  dis  Union, 
I  is  jist  a  gwine  to  set  de  slaves  all  free." 

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Poems     by     Theodore     Henry     Shackelford 

But  dey  said  dey  didn't  'tend  to  jine  de  Union, 
So   de   Union   stahted    draftin'   slaves   you 

know, 
Co'se   I   didn't  like   to   leave  ouah   good   ole 

massa ; 

But  Mas'  Lincoln  called  an'  I  jis  had  to  go. 

An'  dey  gimme  dat  same  flag  daih  in  de  conah, 

An'  we  started  out  an'  ma'ched  de  whole 

night  long, 
Den  ouah  comp'ny  jined  wid  Ginral  Sherman's 

ahmy, 
An'  we  plunged  into  de  battle  wid  a  song. 

Well,  faw  weeks  an*  mont's  we  fought  dem 

Rebel  soljahs 

'Till  along  'tween  sixty-five  an'  sixty-three, 
It  was  at  de  cou't  house  daih  at  Appomattox, 

Ouah  ahmy  met  wid  dat  ob  Gin'ral  Lee. 
Well,  we  marched  'till  we  was  jis  dat  close  up 

to  'em 

So  dat  we  could  almos'  look  'em  in  de  eye, 
Den  ob  cou'se  ouah  Gin'ral  yelled  faw  us  to 

fiah, 

An'  we  raised  ouah  guns  an'  let  de  bullets 
fly. 

An'  de  shells  was  jis  a  bustin'  all  about  us, 
Wid  de  dead  an'  dying  layin'  all  aroun', 
An'  de  colahs  dey  was  almos'  shot  to  pieces!' 
But  dat  flag  o'  mine  aint  nevah  teched  de 

groun' ! 

Aftah    dat   you   know   ole    Gin'ral    Lee    sur 
rendered, 

Faw  daih  wa'nt  no  use  to  fight  no  longah 
den; 

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Poems     by     Theodora     Henry     Shackelford 

'Cause  his  soljahs  dey  was  killed  off  by  de 

thousan* 

An'  he  knowed  dat  he  would  soon  run  out  ob 
men. 

So  he  took  his  hat  off  to  de  Union  ahmy, 

An*  tole  Gin'ral  Grant  his  was  de  victory, 
Den  Mas'  Lincoln  he  done  jis  as  he  had  prom 
ised; 
He  jis  broke  de  ban's  an'  set  de  slaves  all 

free. 

I  remember,  den,  at  las'  as  we  was  leavin1, 
Aftah  we  had  knowed  no  othah  home  faw 

yeahs, 

How  ole  Massa  let  us  hab  de  mule  an'  wagon, 
An'  ole  mistis  eyes,  you  know,  was  full  of 
teahs. 

An'  she  said,  "now,  Sam,  you  take  good  keer  of 

'Cindy, 
An'  remembah  she's  de  bes'  frien'  you  has 

got, 
May  de  Lawd  bless  bofe  ob  you  an'  all  de 

younguns," 
An'  dem  words  dey  sho  has  helped  a  mighty 

lot. 

Den  we  reached  an'  settled  hyeah  in  Pennsyl 
vania, 
An'  ouah  younguns  kep'  on  growin'  big  an' 

strong, 
We  was  lonesome  dough  for  Liza,  Jim,  an' 

Susan, 
An'  we  use'  to  send  'em  lettahs  right  along. 

202 


Poems    by     Theodore     Henry     Shackelford 

An*  de  nex*  yeah  Massa  Lincoln  called  bofe 
ahmies 

Into  Washington  an*  held  de  great  review, 
Cose  I  ma'ched  an*  you  went  daih  to  see  me, 

An'  I  tink  we  took  de  younguns  wid  us,  too. 
Aftah  dat  you  know  daih  come  to  us  a  lettah, 

An*  de  contents  of  de  missive  Viny  read, 
Den  she  said,  "Why,  pop  an*  mammy,  I  is 
sorry, 

But  ole  massa  an*  ole  mistis  bofe  is  dead." 

Den  you  know  we  bofe  sot  daih  an'  cried  to- 

gethah, 

An'  we  pitied  all  ob  dem  lef  on  de  place, 
'Cause  we  knowed  'twould  be  so  very  sad  an' 

lonesome, 

Thout  ole  massa's  an'  ole  mistis'  kindly  face. 
An'  we  nevah  got  no  lettahs  aftah  dat  one, 
So  I  s'pose  de  res'  has  also  passed  away, 
An  yo'  day  an  mine  will  soon  be  comin'  Cindy, 
We  aint  got  much  longah  hyeah  on  ea'th  to 
stay. 

An'  den  when  at  las'  life's  battle's  fought  an 

ended 

An'  de  vict'ry  has  been  won  on  IsreTs  side, 
An'  de  soljdhs  ob  de  Lawd  shall  ma'ch  up 

yondah, 
Whaih  no  wah,  naw  sin,  naw  death  can  den 

betide. 
An'  de  Gin'ral  ob  de  ea'th  reviews  his  ahmy, 

What  a  hallelujah  time  it  den  will  be! 
An'  we'll   see  ole  mas'   an'   mis',   an'   Massa 

Lincoln, 
Yes,  indeed,  I  know  we'll  hab  a  jubilee. 

203 


P o cm s  by  Theodore  Henry  Shackelford 


DADDY'S  FAT  BABY. 

Who's  dat  you's  peekin'  at, 

You  Miss  Melvina? 
Who  said  dat  you  could  play 

Dat  concertina? 
I  kin  bofe  see  an'  hyear. 
Come  from  behine  dat  cheer. 
Now  I'se  gwyne  keep  you  hyear, 

Daddy's  fat  baby. 

Look  at  dem  dimpled  cheeks, 

All  fat  and  greasy; 
Goodness !  you  sho  has  been 

Takin'  life  easy. 
Nothin'  at  all  to  do, 
But  play  de  whole  day  thoo, 
You  lump  ob  sugah  you, 

Daddy's  fat  baby. 

What's  dat  you's  sayin'  now? 

Gib  you  a  penny! 
Now  jis  supposen  Miss 

I  ain't  got  any? 
You  is  a  nuisance  sho, 
Maybe  I'se  got  one  dough, 
But  don't  you  want  no  mo'e, 

Daddy's  fat  baby. 

What  is  you  gwyne  to  git? 

"Some  'lasses  candy!" 
Dat  stoah  keeps  me  broke, 

Bein'  so  handy. 

204 


Poems  by  Theodore  Henry  Shackelford 

Go  'long  den  honey  chile, 
Glad  dat  it  ain't  a  mile, 
Laws'ee,  ain't  dat  a  smile! 
Daddy's  fat  baby. 

Well,  you  is  back  so  soon, 

Messed  up  with  taffy! 
Chile,  I  does  sho  believe 

You's  gwyin  daffy! 
Buy  in'  dat  sticky  stuff, 
Like  you  wa'n't  sweet  enough. 
You  sholy  is  a  bluff, 

Daddy's  fat  baby. 

But  you'll   do   bettah   dough 

When  you  gits  oldah. 
Now  lay  yo'  sleepy  haid 

On  daddy's  shouldah. 
Let  bofe  yo'  eyelids  close, 
God  grant  you  sweet  repose, 
Heaht  ob  a  livin'  rose, 

Daddy's  fat  baby! 


THE  UNFAITHFUL. 

The  dream  that  I  cherished  is  shattered. 

The  sunshine  has  fled  from  the  sky 
The  ideals  I  once  held  are  scattered, 

I  think  of  my  fate  with  a  sigh. 

For  you,  whom  I  love,  have  deceived  me ; 

To  each  spoken  vow  proved  untrue; 
But  I  am  not  sighing  for  vengeance, 

I'll  heap  no  ill  wishes  on  you. 


205 


Poems  by  Theodore  Henrj  Shackelford 

I  leave  you  the  way  that  I  found  you, 
No  better,  but  thank  God,  no  worse  v 

Go  back  to  the  one  who  defiled  you, 
That  his,  and  not  mine  be  the  curse. 


MIGRATION  SONG. 

Goodness  Liza,  stop  dat  whinin', 
Like  as  if  dat  you  was  pinin' 
Case  dat  comp'ny  I  is  jinin* 
Faw  de  Norf. 

Jis  because  I'll  soon  be  leavin' 
I  don't  want  to  see  you  grievin', 
Folks  'ill  t'ink  dat  I'm  deceivin' 
You  my  love. 

Yes  I  know  yo'  heaht  am  achin' 
Case  my  own  am  nearly  breakin' 
Sich  a  journey  to  be  takin' 
Fah  from  you. 

But  I'se  gwne  to  save  my  money 
Till  de  weathah's  wahm  an'  sunny, 
Den  I'll  sen'  faw  you,  my  honey, 
'Deed  I  will. 

Kiss  me  now,  de  train  am  goin' 
To  a  Ian'  whaih  it  am  snowin' 
An'  de  chilly  win's  am  blowin' 
Way  up  Norf. 

But  I  promise  to  remembah 
Same  in  June  as  in  Decembah, 
An'  we'll  mahy  in  Septembah. 
Good-bye  "Lize." 


206 


Poems  by  Theodore  Henry  Shackelford 


RASTUS  AND  THE  TURTLE. 

Daih  was  a  man  who  lived  down  souf, 

His  name  was  Rastus  Snow; 
An*  on  long  jou'neys  by  his-self 

Dis  Rastus  he  would  go. 
As  to  de  rivah  one  hot  day 

He  went  to  take  a  swim 
A  tu'tle  on  a  log  he  saw 

A-smilin'  right  at  him. 

He  swum  out  daih  to  whaih  it  was, 

Den  grabbed  it  by  de  tail, 
An*  faw  his  cabin  back  in  town 

Den  Rastus  hit  de  trail. 
To  ev'ry  one  dat  he  would  meet 

He  eithah  smiled  aw  bowed; 
An*  tol'  'em  whaih  he  got  it  at; 

I  tell  you  he  was  proud! 

Now  'Zekel  Smif,  who  as  you'll  see, 

Was  nachly  bad  from  choice, 
Had  took  a  co'espondence  cou'se, 

An*  learned  to  th'ow  his  voice. 
An*  he  was  death  on  tu'tle  soup ; 

Mos'  anyt'ing  he'd  do 
To  git  a  big  one  faw  his  pot, 

He  sho  could  cook  'em,  too. 

When  he  saw  Rastus  wid  de  one 
He  had  jis  caught  dat  day, 

A  scheme  he  hatched  out  in  his  min' 
To  git  it  right  away. 


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Poems  by  Theodore  Henry  Shackelford 

He  said,  "Say,  boys,  le's  hab  some  fun 

When  Rastus  comes  along, 
I'll  th'ow  my  voice  an'  make  him  t'ink 

Dat  turtle's  done  gone  wrong." 

"An'  if  he  puts  it  on  de  groun' 

An'  leaves  it  daih  you  see 
He  mus'  not  want  it  very  bad, 

Den  it  belongs  to  me." 
Well,  Rastus  come  a'steppin'  up, 

Quite  biggety  you  know. 
Den  dat  ole  tu'tle  up  an'  said 

"Please,  mistah,  let  me  go?" 

Well,  Rastus  stopped  anr  looked  at  him, 

De  pictur  ob  su'prise ; 
An'  sho  as  fate  why  daih  was  teahs 

In  bofe  de  tu'tle's  eyes. 
"Oh,  Mistah  Rastus,"  den  it  said, 

"Why  can't  you  hyeah  my  plea, 
Oh,  don't  cook  me  an'  eat  me  up! 

Please,  mistah,  set  me  free." 

But  Rastus  still  hel'  on  to  him, 

De  crowd  commenced  to  yell; 
An'  ev'ry  time  dat  he  would  move, 

Why    'Zeke  would  move  as  well. 
An'  den  it  said,  "Why  dats  a  sin 

To  live  on  tu'tle  meat; 
I  know  you'll  git  de  stummick  ache 

'Cause  I  aint  fit  to  eat!" 

Den  Rastus  said,  "I  guess  you  aint, 

I  'gree  wid  you  on  dat, 
An*  all  Ise  gwine  to  do  wid  you 

Is  drap  you  whaih  you's  at!" 

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Poems     by     Theodore     Henry     Shackelford 

An'  Rastus  let  him  go  "ker-plunk," 

An'  hurried  on  his  way, 
An'  'Zekel  Smif,  so  I  am  told, 

Had  tu'tle  soup  nex'  day. 


RING  OUT  YE  BELLS. 

Ring  out  ye  bells  with  joyful  sound, 
And  spread  the  tidings  all  around 
That  men  may  know  a  King  is  crowned 
For  Jesus  reigns  to-day. 

No  more  the  tomb  His  form  doth  hold; 
He  doth  not  lie  there  still  and  cold. 
By  angels,  back  the  stone  was  relied, 
And  He  came  forth  to-day. 

Ring  out,  with  loud  triumphant  ring. 
Ring  out,  and  let  all  nations  sing 
Hosannas  to  the  Risen  King 
Who  rules  the  earth  to-day. 

His  precious  life  for  man  He  gave; 
He  died,  the  world  from  sin  to  save. 
Now  He  has  conquered  death  and  grave, 
Let  all  rejoice  to-day. 

Ring  out  yet  bells  with  merry  chime ; 
Ring  out  ye  bells  with  joy  sublime! 
Ring  out,  for  this  is  Easter  time, 
Ring  out,  Ring  out  to-day. 


200 


Poems     by     Theodore     Henry     Shackelford 


DE  REASON  WHY  I  SMILE 

You  ax  me  why  I  allus  smile, 

An*  look  so  gay  an*  bright; 
While  othah  folks  gits  blue  an*  glum 

When  t'ings  don't  go  jis  right; 
An'  how  I  keeps  my  tempah  sweet 

An*  even  all  de  while; 
So  I  is  gwine  to  try  my  bes' 

To  tell  you  why  I  smile. 

Why  even  when  Ise  burdened  down 

Until  Ise  'bout  to  drop. 
An*  when  life's  wheels  gits  clogged  wid  rust, 

An'  tries  daih  bes'  to  stop; 
An*  troubles  jis  comes  thick  an'  fas' 

An'  heaps  up  in  a  pile; 
If  you  say  "watah-millon"  den, 

Why  I  can't  help  but  smile. 

Some  times  I  gits  home  tiahed  out, 

An'  hongry  as  can  be; 
But  not  a  single  t'ing  to  eat 

Is  waitin'  daih  faw  me ; 
An'  den  my  tempah  gits  so  hot 

It  seems  about  to  bile, 
Den  'Liza  brings  a  millon  out 

An'  I  can't  help  but  smile. 

210 


Poems  by  Theodort  Henry  Shaekelforil 

Some  times  a  nickel  I  ain't  got, 

Can't  even  buy  a  match. 
I  longs  to  drown  my  sorrows  den 

In  some  one's  millon  patch. 
An*  so  I  walks  on  down  de  road, 

An'  in  a  little  while, 
Daih's  millons  all  aroun'  my  feet, 

Den  I  can't  help  but  smile. 

I  thumps  an'  hefts  'em,  too,  you  know, 

Dem  millions  sho  is  fine; 
I  takes  de  bigges'  one  aroun' 

An'  stahts  back  down  de  line. 
A  bulldog  den  gits  aftah  me 

An'  chases  me  a  mile ; 
But  I  has  kep'  dat  millon  still, 

So  I  can't  help  but  smile. 

I  reaches  home  direc'ly  den, 

An'  bustes  it  in  two, 
An'  it  is  juicy,  ripe,  an'  red, 

An'  sweet  as  sugah,  too ; 
Den  I  jis  nachly  shows  my  teef, 

An'  smile,  an'  smile,  an'  smile, 
When  I  eats  watah-millon,  man, 

I  jis  can't  help  but  smile. 


211 


Poems     by     Theodore     Henry     Shackelford 


JUST  MAMMY'S  WAY 

You  Obadiah  Lincoln  Jones ! 

What's  dat  you's  doin'  daih? 
Now  boy  if  I  come  aftah  you 

I'll  wahm  you  up  faw  faih. 
You  come  in  hyeah  dis  instance,  suh, 

An'  worsh  yo'  ban's  an'  face, 
Befo'e  I  git  dem  switches  daih 

An'  run  you  off  dis  place. 

Hyeah  all  day  long  you's  been  out  doo's 

A  rollin'  in  de  dust. 
While  dis  po'  tiahed  head  o'  mine. 

Been  achin'  fit  to  bust. 
Since  you  has  been  a  runnin'  round 

Wid  dem  no-counted  boys, 
Why  you  has  put  nigh  drove  me  wild 

A  keepin'  sich  a  noise. 

Ise  been  too  easy  all  along 

An'  let  you  hab  yo'  way  ; 
Dats  jis  de  reason  why  dat  you 

Ain't  wuth  yo'  salt  today; 
But  dat  has  sholy  got  to  stop; 

An'  say  don't  you  fawget 
Dat  I  is  still  yo'  mammy,  suh, 

You's  got  to  min'  me  yet. 

212 


Poems     by     Theodore     Henry     Shackelford 

Daih  ain't  no  use  to  wall  yo'  eyes 

An'  watch  dem  aigs'  an'  ham ! 
I  s'pose  you  tink  dat  I  can't  see 

Yo'  mouf  all  smeahed  wid  jam. 
Shet  up  an'  take  dat  mouf  in  suh! 

Don't  pout  at  me  no  mo'e. 
Fust  ting  you  know  you'll  fin'  yo'self 

A  sprawlin'  on  dat  floo' ! 

Now  I  want  you  to  hurry  up, 

You  good-for-nothin'  brat! 
I'm  sick  an'  tiahed  seein'  you 

A  pokin'  long  like  dat! 
Why  you  must  t'ink  its  fun  faw  me 

To  stan'  up  hyeah  an'  scol', 
While  evah  blessed  t'ing  Ise  cooked 

Is  gettin'  icy  col'. 

A  widder  'oman  sho  do  hab 

A  hahd  time  in  dis  life, 
Nex'  time  I  mahy  bet  you  I 

Won't  be  no  po    man's  wife, 
An'  hab  a  lot  of  young  uns  round 

Dat  allus  wants  to  play, 
"If  in  my  heaht  I  do  not  yiel' 

I'll  ovah-come  some  day." 


213 


CONTENTS.  Page 

A  Little  Child  Shall  Lead  Them   185 

A  Race  for  Life . .  144 

Behave  Yo'  Self  124 

Be  Polite  10 

Cats  20 

Christ  and  the  Woman  98 

Commencement 82 

Daddy's  Fat  Baby   204 

Dat  Little  Room  Ob  Mine  168 

Dat-Old-Time  Religion   74 

De  Bent  Pin  Hook  75 

De  Deacon's  Mistake  141 

De  Reason  Why  I  Smile 210 

Despondent    173 

De  Sweet  Co'n  Patch  41 

Doing  Their  Bit  74 

Down  With  the  Diver   183 

Elenor    35 

Eva    120 

Farewell   129 

Fido 153 

Fin.  Yo'  Place 94 

Gabriel's  Messengers   136 

God  Will  Make  it  Right   28 

Good  Night  Dear  Heart 82 

Hope   140 

How  Sam  Got  the  Bear  122 

Hymn  to  Philadelphia  147 

If  You  Don't  Fawgit  to  Pray    147 

In  Slavery  Days   149 

In  That  Great  Day   51 

Just  For  You   : 15S 

Just  Mammy's  Way   212 

Lullaby 157 

Mammy's  Cracklin'  Bread  25 

Margarita 14 

Memories  of  Dixie   165 

Migration  Song 206 

My  Ambition 103 

214 


Page 

My  Country  5 

My  Cousin  from  Boston  149 

My  Dream  Girl    114 

My  Louisiana  Baby    83 

My  Mother  191 

My  Pal 31 

Noah  an'  de  Ahk    44 

No  Chance  For  Me  56 

None  There   37 

Now  I've  Changed    47 

Now  They  Believe  Me 30 

Ode  to  Frederick  Douglass  49 

On  Account • 137 

On  the  Cafe  Car   176 

Over  the  Top   11 

Perseverance 32 

Po'  Gran'  Pop'   192 

Rainy  Weathah  108 

Rastus  and  the  Turtle   207 

Right  Must  Win    133 

Ring  Out  Ye  Bells   t 209 

Roasted   Shoat    88 

Say  a  Word   Faw  Fathah   96 

Since  Bud's  Gone  Away 187 

Some  Day  43 

Somewhere  in  the  South    131 

Sonnet    38 

Sonnet    175 

Start  Today  172 

Thanksgivin'  Day 105 

That  Quartet  from  Downingtown   163 

The  Aftermath   127 

The  Allies   22 

The  Big  Bell  in  Zion 39 

The  Break  of  Dawn  80 

The  Buffaloes'  Parade   138 

The  Call  of  the  Woodland  102 

The  Castle  of  Remembrance  59 

The  Country  Circus   91 

The  Fickle  Lover 116 

The   Fifteenth   Regiment    100 

The  Girl  on  the  Boardwalk  115 

The  Good  Old  Ship  Sailed  On 36 

The  Keeper  of  the  Light  110 

The  Last  Days  of  Autumn  18 

216 


Page 

The  Last  Sailing 6 

The  Laundryman   134 

The   Little   Restaurant    17 

Then  Aloud  I  Cry 40 

The  Old   Pear  Tree    67 

The  Old  Sailor's  Story   69 

The  Orphan's  Christmas  Tree   65 

The  Prodigal  Son    118 

The   Question    104 

The  Three  Hundred  and  Sixty-Eighth  Infantry..   34 

The  Trials  of  an  Entertainer   156 

The  Unfaithful    205 

Though  the  Eagle  May  Soar 52 

Thy   Calling    181 

To  Booker  T.  Washington    167 

To  Dr.  William  A.  Creditt 179 

When   Daddy  Hoi's  Yo'   Han'    189 

When  De  Suppah  Am  a  Cookin'  77 

When   Granny's   Peelin'  Apples    197 

When  Maria  Calls  the  Chickens 171 

When   My  Ship   Comes   In    33 

When  the  Game  is  Over  Jim   99 

Why  Is  It?   170 

Wrhy   Pop   Snowden   Fell   From   Grace ;85 

Won't  You  Please  Come  Back  Again?   184 

Yesterday    113 

You  Have  Encouraged  Me    128 

Youth's  Choice   .  60 


218 


THIS  BOOK  IS  DUE  ON  THE  LAST  DATE 
STAMPED  BELOW 


RENEWED  BOOKS  ARE  SUBJECT  TO  IMMEDIATE 
RECALL 


LIBRARY,  UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA,  DAVIS 

Book  Slip-25m-6,'66(G3855s4)458 


N9  542408 

PS3537 

Shackelford,  T.H.       H217 
My  country.          M9 


LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
DAVIS 


